The Wammy's Honey
by Orabelle Hiomi Zefronke
Summary: Incredibly large spin-off of Death Note! Lots and lots of OCs1 About a burdened child who struggles not to bite back at the people who really love her and move on from her parent's painful deaths. Follows Honey Charter, a genius in disguise.
1. Chapter 1

Being an orphan is not all that. Sure, Anne makes it look easy. Curly Top is a total cutie when she's an orphan and when she's not an orphan. Those are movies. This is real life. Being an orphan sucks. It's like being stuck at home when your entire class goes on a really cool field trip. Or when you find out that your crush picked your friend over you. It's life-sucking and I feel like I might die from the loneliness.

You see, my mother was an art teacher at my school. My father was a wonderful doctor. He saved many lives on a daily basis. My mother, Momma, always encouraged me to be myself, and to succeed in that. Father, Poppa, told me that while I was being myself, I had to follow those unbreakable rules of life to be myself. I loved my parents. They loved me. We weren't poor, we were content.

On the night that they died, we were at a drive-in watching Toy Story. I laughed like an idiot, like a child. Momma passed me the popcorn, Poppa nudged me to say thank you. And I gladly did so.

***Ever since I was five, my education was always progressive. I was homeschooled by night going to public school by day. I have insomnia, sleeping at the most random and inconvenient times. Once I passed out in gym while running for a huge P.E. test. I was in the front and then, PLOP, I was on the ground, sound asleep.

"Honeydew, you did great." Momma said.

I rolled my eyes and patted my bandaged knee, "Momma, I tripped _three_ kids. And because of me, Ms. Nelson had to postpone the test. That's not cool."

Poppa intervened. "Honeycomb, God didn't let you come to be so you could be cool." Poppa always stressed the word cool, making the 'oo' last much longer than it should have. I giggled. Poppa was the one to make me laugh. Momma was there to hug and love and make delicious food.

"Yeah, I guess not. But if I can't be cool, what am I?" This was a regular thing, something I asked every night. And every night, they came up with a new word to describe me. Then I used that word all week.

My parents exchanged a parental look. Momma did a drumroll. Poppa slowly said, "You. Are. Loved." It was as if they sensed that they were going to leave me soon, forever. Maybe they did. Maybe they were running out of words that suited me. I'll never know.

*** Anyway, the night they died. We made our way home. Just as we got outside, a man in a hoody came up and shanked my mother in the stomach. She screamed, I stood stock-still. Blood rapidly leaked out of her clothes.

Poppa ran around the car to save her. He threw his phone at me and I dialed for the paramedics as fast as a nine year old could. I backed away to safety, yelling the emergency, hearing the rushed fighting of my poppa and my momma and the stranger.

"Please, please! Hurry! My momma is hurt, please hurry!" I gave the address, correct down to the exact house decoration. I prayed and hoped and wished that the police would appear instantaneously. But they didn't.

I turned around just as my father fell down in a clump at the killer's feet. He smiled; he was _basking_ in the tainted glory of my parents' deaths. He then looked at me, my nine year old vulnerability. Mr. Killer sauntered toward me, my parents' blood scattered across his jacket. I fought the urge to gag. I could hear sirens in the distance. The distance. He was too close to me, they were far away.

"Come here, little girl." He purred.

I shook my head and took two steps back. He took two steps forward, reached for me, and received my enraged fist. It happily connected to his crotch, and in a brief burst of passion, I did a roundhouse kick into his jaw. The solid crunch it made would've made my poppa proud, if he weren't dead yet. I highly suspected they both were.

"How dare you, you, _you_, _**murderer**_!" I shouted as the police finally arrived. Mr. Killer made an attempt to escape. He didn't make it. They had him down on the ground before I could start to cry.

One, only one, kindly officer had courage to approach my bent over figure. I was shaking with inward tremors, tears flooding my eyes. "It's okay, it's okay." He said as he made to pat my back.

I yelled, "No, it's not! My momma, my poppa, they're dead! _He, _Mr. Killer, he murdered them. I'm alone, all alone. I've no one now! I'm all alone in the world, so don't say it's okay. Because it's not. It will never be. As long as my parents are dead. Never, _never_, never, _never_!" I clutched my head and continued my sobbing.


	2. Chapter 2

*** I couldn't face the trial. If I had to see Mr. Killer's face, that smug grin, I would've died. So, instead I was put into the hands of my attorney. He gave me my parents will. Let me read it. Let me digest it.

"_If anything is to happen to us, please send our daughter, Honey Charter, to Wammy's Orphanage. We believe she'll be able to continue her learning there. If she asks, tell her that Momma knew the founder._ So, I'm an orphan now, aren't I?" I asked, my eyes still puffy from the never-ending river forming at the bases of my eyes. My voice was dead, I was dead. I felt as if my soul had been ripped out of my chest.

"Yes, I'm afraid you are."

"No, you're not. You're sorry that they're dead, but that's it. You're getting paid extra for this. You just want me to think of you as an ally. Well, you're not. My allies are dead." I said stoically. I saw the truth in his eyes just as plainly as I saw my momma die.

As he said nothing, I took a look at the address. "Wait, is this the orphanage that's right next to that huge kid store?" Interest lacked in my tone, but my question was still there. I wasn't curious, it was just something that forgot to die.

"Y-yes, it is."

"Oh." And that was my time at my lawyer's office.

*** An old, ancient-looking man took my bags as I entered Wammy's Orphanage grounds. It was a dull, bleak day. All the kids were inside, probably playing games and such.

"This is the orphanage, huh?" I asked. I made sure to avoid previous rain puddles.

He took a deep breath, the weight of my luggage was hurting him. Before he could answer I snatched my bags away from him and looked at him as though it didn't happen.

"Ah, yes, it is. I founded it many years ago. And thank you."

"Just because I have to live my life in pain, doesn't mean I have the right to inflict it on others. Go on. Sir." No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn't forget my poppa's rule : Be polite, Honey, no matter what.

He, Wammy, looked as if he was used to this kind of treatment. Weird old man. The orphanage was gigantic, so many windows. It was ancient, it was vintage, it was kind of cute. But I would never admit that. Ever.

Once inside, we proceeded to go through the rules : VERY basic. Wammy showed me my room. With aged grace he bowed and said I could stay the rest of the day in there but would have to attend school tomorrow. Good luck and good night. My luck had soured, my night fitful and sorrowful. Since I had insomnia, I had a lot of time to organize and reorganize my room till it didn't resemble my old room. I didn't want anything from that epoch, that fateful time of my childhood. Absolutely nothing that could remind me of that night. I wanted my parents, so I had all my pictures on a shelf. Me, smiling, Poppa (trying) to make a pizza, Momma chuckling while secretly dialing the local pizza place.

"Well, Momma, I don't know what to do anymore. You always knew though. Always. Poppa, what am I now?" I looked at his picture. I searched for an answer. I received none.

But as I lay on the bed, a memory came to my eyes. _My parents exchanged a parental look. Momma did a drumroll. Poppa slowly said, "You. Are. Loved." I'll never know._

*** Against my wishes, the sun rose (at least, I think it did, the clouds were so thick), and my first day of school as an orphan began.

*** "Introduce yourself to the class, hon." The teacher commanded mercilessly.

So I faced the crowd and stared at each of them with equal disinterest. It wouldn't be fair if I stared at one too long. But there were three boys I looked a second longer at. One had snow white hair, snow white skin, and gray eyes. An albino kid. Another had long, girlish blonde hair and a fiery glare to go with it. The last was pretty average looking. But in his hands was a gaming system and on his head a pair of goggles.

"Hello, my name is Honey Charter," I ignored the sniggers, "and I just lost my whole world to a murderer. Don't take too much offense if I give you sarcasm, smack talk, or if I just don't give a rat's ass. It's what I am now. I have insomnia. Thank you." I sat right behind the guy with the goggles.

The teacher said, wavering in her teaching, "Everyone, stand and say your name and something about yourself. How about you start, Matt, since you're so interested in the class and your new classmate." The boy in front of me jumped to a start.

"Uh, yeah, sure." He turned to me. "Hey, I'm Matt. I like playing video games. Nice to meet you." As he said that, I pictured snapping those goggles back onto his head. It was a pleasant thought.

I nodded.


	3. Chapter 3

*** Soon, everyone had introduced themselves. The feminine blonde was Mello, the albino was Near. Pretty interesting names for orphans, but I guess Honey was a weird name, too. They continued with the lesson, practically boring me to death. It was about how to properly use fractions. Before Mr. Killer killed my poppa, he was teaching me all about polynomials and complex French.

At lunch, three girls came up to me. One's name was Linda. She asked to sit with me, and I bluntly refused. They walked away and I resumed my silent mulling over the food. Or whatever it was that they dared to call food.

_What am I now, Poppa?_ Matt sat beside me, Mello across from us. Mello gave me a conceited glare, and I returned it with a graceful flicker of the bird. Matt chuckled.

"So, how's your first day going so far, Honey?" Matt asked, not really caring whether or not I actually answered.

I picked up a lemon slice and sucked on it. "Not good. Nothing here is really suiting my fancy. Everything is so. . . Well, downgrading. I'm used to much higher standards."

"You're a genius, right?" Mello's ears seemed to twitch. They mesmerized me, if not only for a moment.

"Yeah, I am, I guess. Well, only in certain things." I replied lifelessly. The longer I talked with them, the more I felt like something inside me was thawing. It was an odd feeling, starting in the darkest, most secluded part of my heart and slowly spreading throughout my body. At the time, I didn't like it, I didn't hate it. I seemed to crave it, though I would not allow myself to admit it.

"What kinds of things? Jumping up and down a hundred times a day?" Mello's attitude made me angry.

I was irked, so I rose up out of my seat and picked up my tray. "I am loved, so I don't have to explain to you, Jell-O boy. Goodbye, Matt. Jell-O." And with that, I took my long awaited leave and dumped my tray on my way out.

As I made my way out I tripped on a little mass. Somehow, I managed to stub my toe and proceeded to inwardly curse and hop on one foot and hold my injured foot with both hands.

"Aren't you Honey?" A little, tinkling voice asked. I looked around and spotted no one. I must've been hearing things. Then a slight tug on my pant leg alerted me to the cutesy albino on the ground. He reminded me of an injured bird, only whiter, and cuter.

"Well, don't you look like a little bird?" I muttered. His eyebrows pulled together just slightly, most of the unimaginable act was hidden under those long bangs. But I have excellent vision.

"Excuse me?" I think he was used to being top-dog around here. Mello was second, anyone could see that. Even if you hadn't known he always got 99 or 98 on his tests. His manual hatred towards Near hinted at the animosity that rested in his heart.

I let my knees collapse under me and fold neatly into a crouch. Then my butt fell to the floor so that I, too, was also criss-cross applesauce. "Oh, you know. With such a small, delicate figure, I think anyone would think you're a reincarnated snow bird. You've got the frame for it not to mention your naturally fragile way of moving. It's graceful and elegant and you are still listening." I was assuming that Near would go back to playing with his toys when I started talking. When anyone tried to speak to him, he returned his full attention to his toys unless it was the teacher. But he was still staring at me.

"You're not normal, Honey." Near stated. OH, REALLY.

"Neither are you, Near. Hey, can I play with you? I happen to be a fan of robotics myself." I picked a small, dowdy robot that Near had in his hands and gazed at it through the eyes of a genius. Near jolted the smallest bit but I laughed anyway.

A little blush showed on his cheeks. "Sure."

I laughed louder, giggles spewing from my throat and onto the floor. "You're a pretty interesting boy, Near, so very much so."

He looked at me as if there was something wrong with me, and there was. Both my parents were dead, and I was alone in an odd orphanage. If there was something wrong with me, I completely deserved it at the moment.

"How am I interesting?" He seemed to note that he was boring, looking into his tone. It resembled mine.

"You don't care one bit what others say to you or about you. You have no problems with proving others wrong. I like that. The only thing I don't get is that you're paying attention to me. I'm not being ignored for Megatron. It's weird that you'd let me have the longest time slot, since you don't even know me." I said lightly, playing with the robots legs. It made a beeping noise that came with flashing lights. I smiled.

Near stared at the toy in my hands. I held it out to him, challenging him to take it. _Do it. Take it. I don't mind. Take it, if you can, _I thought.

"That's because I don't know about you. You seem interesting, too." Near said through his blushingly see-through bangs.

I gazed at him, struck by how he made it so easy to forget that my parents had been killed. Near made my soul a bit lighter, like he was lifting me upon his wings.

My mind was whirling around this feeling, at home, at peace, in sound mind. I cherished it, even as it slipped away just like myself.


	4. Chapter 4

"Hey, you can't talk to Near!" A girl, Linda, dragged me away and threw me into the opposite wall. They picked at my hair like apes and screamed incomprehensible things. I had suspected that would happen, so I picked myself up and glared at them.

"And exactly what was that for, ladies?" I asked fruitlessly.

They were pissed, that I could see plainly enough. "We are the Near club!" When they said that all in unison, my face went blank. As if someone had accidentally tripped on my facial expressions plug. Linda waved her hand in front of my face.

"What. . . Are you, exactly? I don't know if I heard you correctly."

"We are the Near club?" Again they said it in complete unison. And again I didn't show any emotion. Then: laughter erupted from my mouth. It spurted and spewed and carried all the way to the cafeteria. All the way to the darkest room in the orphanage. The girls stepped back, scared out of their wits.

"Oh, well, that's really! Darn, that is just too funny! Ha ha ha. Gosh, I'm crying!" I wheezed on the floor, collapsing under all the hilarity.

Near silenced me through his pajama sleeve as he walked away, toys in hand. I stared at him through my slowly evaporating laughter ecstasy cloud. Matt and Mello showed up after the Near club left.

"Was that you, Honey?" Matt asked, he stood behind Mello. Matt should've been able to be right next to Mello, but Matt was Mello's dog. But I was going to change that. I just didn't know it yet.

I wiped away the hair from my face and patted off the dust. My mask had been placed once again on my face. Only this time, it felt itchy and actually felt like a mask. My breathing felt tapped into, I didn't control it.

"Uh, yeah, kind of."

Mello chuckled. "Oh, yeah, that's a very smart response."

Linda's attack had me fired up and Mello had spilt the gasoline. I shoved into his face and actually growled because I was so angry. "Shove off, Jell-O. You're stupid, useless, and I don't like you. Just because you have Matt at your side and you have somewhat good grades, doesn't mean that you can put all your problems on me! So grow up and get away from me!" With sturdy might, I put my hands against Jell-O and drove him into the ground. His expression brought me giddy pleasure. But I was too angry to properly enjoy it, so I stashed it away to giggle into my pillow when the day was over.

In a fitful rage, I stalked to class, and bit one boy who decided it'd be funny to make fun of my name. "My momma gave me this name because I was so sweet. My poppa gave me my name because the Indian people believe honey has healing powers. Why did your parents name you John, huh?" I got no response. The teacher told me to go to my room and relieve some stress.

"Thanks," I said, instantly deflating as soon as I exited the classroom, "That'd probably be best for me."

So, that's how I got the entire rest of the day off. Mostly, I just wandered the halls and peeked into random classrooms, making funny faces at the people that stared at me. I felt like being a total bitch, so I was. I kicked someone's house of cards in and kept walking when they through a block at my head. I thought it was kind of funny how masochistic I was, like even the thought of pain was fascinating, and I personally love conflict. It's just something that my parents gave no credit for. They say that I got the masochism from my late grandmother Lucille and the craving for drama. . . Momma doesn't admit it but she was extremely into sitcoms and cliffhangers in her novels that she had on the top shelf.

When I turned the corner, head throbbing, I rested against the wall and slid down until I was crouched into myself. An emotion that felt like being slapped with a brick in a sock slammed into me, sending me into tremors.

Despite my attitude I was not okay, not in the least. I had just lost my family, all my other relatives are either in the ground or spending their midlife crisis' on cruises around the world, out of reach. The man who slaughtered my parents was still in trial. They said they were testing his brain for glitches and malfunctions of regular behavior.

"Look at me now, Poppa, I'm not loved. I'm screwed." I whispered to myself, a secret that had constantly replayed in my mind.

An old man found me ten minutes later and asked, "Are you alright, Honey?"

I looked up, tears humiliating me beyond belief, instantly recognizing Wammy. "Y-yeah. . . No, I guess I'm not."

"Would you like to tell me about it?" He asked another question in that creaky old voice. I continued to stare at him bleakly, numb with the stupid, salty traitors that were accidentally catching in my mouth.

After a second or two of no reply, I said, "That would be. . ." I was just a child, so why not indulge in the fruit of the young, "Nice. Thank you." He held out his hand and I carelessly took it, covertly taking all my weight and lifting myself anyway. Wammy was just too old to take my weight, I wasn't fat but still. Old people need respect and kindness like the rest of the world. But right now, I wasn't thinking about the world, screw the world, just as much as I.

*** So I talked with him. I told him all my crap and he just listened. He didn't give me advice that I wouldn't follow, didn't even give me the pity eyes. In fact, he showed little emotion except for the generic old person look. No offense to all the aged of this world.

After I was done I left, shuffling to my room. I felt a bit lighter ego-wise. The world didn't feel lighter, just a little bit easier to bear if Wammy knows.

Just as I reached for the knob of my door, a hand tapped my shoulder. I expected the worst and hoped for it to be just a breeze so I could go inside.


	5. Chapter 5

I turned around and saw Mello. "Great." I said bluntly, right in his face, showing no mercy.

He jolted, and then politely threw me the bird. I threw it right back. "Look, Jell-O, I really have no desire to fight with you. So, please just yell at me and leave." Giving myself up as bait to speed up the argument was easy, I was very tired.

"That's not what I'm here for." He looked pissed as a bee in a jar. But along with the anger was. . . what? Remorse? Guilt? Constipation?

"Right. . ." I led off, trying to pry the thing out of him subtly. But of course I didn't succeed. If anything my response quieted him.

And there we stood, my patience thinning, his rage growing, for eight minutes. At the exact moment that I was going to fondly grind my foot into his face he spoke. "I. . . Am. . . Very. . . Sorry about. . . Today!" Then, embarrassingly enough, he thrust a chocolate bar into my hand and took off.

I looked after him, partly shocked and partly amused. Then I remembered, "Wait! I don't like chocolate! Hey, Jell-O, hold on! Ugh, oh well." I held the chocolate loosely, not caring if an imaginary monster were to come by and snatch the bar away. But it didn't so I threw the chocolate into a drawer, planning on eating it later. Sure I didn't like it but it was rude to not eat something that someone you don't like give it to you violently.

Inside the confines of my room, I undressed and changed into my pajamas. I thought I heard a slight knock outside the door but I ignored it until I heard it again, three sharp but dainty knocks of the door. Hoping it was Casper was stupid but I was sorely disappointed when it was Near.

"Oh, hey, Near." I said lightly, honestly trying not to be rude but epically failing. My eyelids felt so heavy that it was a superhuman effort to keep them open.

"The teacher wanted me to give you your homework." He said unresponsively. He forgot all about our 'moment' in the hall but that was okay. At least, I thought he forgot.

I smiled cruelly, leaning back and looking at him. "That is funny, seeing as how I don't do homework. So you can take it back. Have a good day, Near." I moved back to close the door but his small and a tad bit girlish hand blocked me.

He looked at me with those gray albino eyes and didn't say anything. Why were these people wasting my time? Finally, I said, "Move your hand, Near, I'm tired."

Slowly he removed his hand from my door and stepped back.

Just as I closed the door I said regrettably, "Good night to you, Near." And he nodded, gazing wasn't the word for what he was doing with his eyes. More like quietly challenging me to a duel or a competition. I gave it back to him with twice the force. I closed the door on both Near and his challenge. Enough boy trouble for a day or maybe a lifetime.

Finally, I sat in the chair of my new desk, not knowing whether to listen to music or read or blank out. I chose the first option.

"_Honey, why you calling me so late? It's kind of hard to talk right now. . . Honey, why you crying, is everything okay? I got to whisper cause I can't be too loud. Well, my girl's in the next room. . . Sometimes I wish she was you. I guess we never really moved on. It's really good to hear your voice saying my name, it sounds so sweet. Coming from the lips of an angel, it makes me weak." _I sang, voice wavering slightly. In the room by myself, I muttered the lyrics to myself, grieving like a child has the right to. Tears rolled down my cheeks, memories of my parents flooding into my head and heart and soul.

_My parents exchanged a parental look. Momma did a drumroll. Poppa slowly said, "You. Are. Loved." _

And the song changed so my mood did as well. "_You say that I'm messing with your head. . . Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah! All because I was making out with your friend. . . Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!"_ I arose and pranced around the room, throwing my hands and feet and hair into a whirlwind of escape through music.

What the Hell? What a perfect song for my situation. . . Well, except for the fact that I'm talking to the orphanage instead of a clingy boyfriend. A smile was brought to my lips, an unwelcome change, but it didn't matter right now. I had found my escape and I wasn't letting go. Not yet, not ever.


	6. Chapter 6

*** The next day of school came by so quickly. Even with my insomnia, the digital clock whirred forward, not caring if I was dreading the dawn. That day I was wearing my longest shirt, sleeves passing me, mimicking Near just a tad bit more than was necessary. But it didn't have buttons or a collar. The shirt was a light blue with nothing to hint that I was a girl. I was nine and puberty hadn't sent me my curse yet.

Years before, my parents had gotten me a music device, and today I was going to put it to good use. The wires connected to the massive headphones was hidden in my shirt, points for its complete bagginess.

My pants were simple. Long indigo jeans that had a few tears in them.

"Am I ready," I looked in the bathroom's mirror, "Why, yes, I most certainly am." And that's how my days as an orphan truly began.

I walked to class, listening to some Japanese music, somewhat soothed and calmed by its smooth then jagged rhythms. The headphones attracted little attention, the real problem was me, in general. I had made quite a disturbance yesterday. Children were snickering at me, whether behind me or in front of me, it didn't matter. They showed me no mercy and I gladly returned the favor. For every giggle I heard I flipped them off.

In the classroom, I sat in my chair and hoped for lightning to strike the windows, shattering them, ending class. That day there was supposed to be tests, and huge ones, too.

Matt sat in front of me and turned to stare at me. "So, what is up, Problem Child?" I had watched that movie. It was a favorite of mine. Unfortunately the music that I was listening to drowned him out, fortunately I could read lips.

"Nothing much, Mark." I purposely got his name wrong so he would turn around but he didn't. Just kept talking to me and playing with his game system. So I ignored him and went to reading World Torture. Truthfully, it didn't appeal to me, but it was to help establish the fact that if you messed with me, you'd get page 54.

Class began. The teacher handed out the tests, asking me if I wanted to skip out on them. I replied calmly (still listening to the Jap music) that I could take them.

My music changed just as I started the test. It was called Fairytale by Alexander Rybak and it. . . moved me? The violin was skilled and fast and had my heart beating faster than a hummingbird's wings. The test's questions passed by me in a flurry, a blizzard of notes and music and magic that only a musician could usher onto me. The lyrics had me in a trance, I fought by day, loved by night. I soon had it replaying in my mind, my voice just barely being contained, I wanted to sing so desperately. I wanted more of his music.

Then. . . I burst. My voice rang out and a pure, joyous smile broke out on my face. It was like a zit you just couldn't hide no matter how much you covered it. Maybe that was the wrong example since my voice is not like a zit, it is very pleasant. . . . Anyway, I burst and so did the class. They laughed and some stared in awe and some I could tell thought I was crazy. I felt kind of embarrassed but when they clapped, all in mix-matched unison, I beamed.

The teacher grinned sweetly and said, "Well, you're definitely going to be in choir, Miss Honey." I smiled back, feeling the music pound forever in my head. Was this destiny that just came across my pimple-like voice?

Either I had an opportunity to make something of my momma's voice or I was externally screwed. I guessed that I would find out later.


	7. Chapter 7

*** I aced my tests, as I expected. Gloating wasn't really on my list of things to do, but when I got a higher score than Jell-O. . . Well, I couldn't resist.

"Hey, Mark, what did Jell-O get on his test again?" I asked, making direct eye contact with the blonde as I asked this, relishing in his jealous envy. It was enjoyable until he smacked me with a textbook. Now, it doesn't matter about the size of the textbook, the pain comes from the force of the person behind it. And Jell-O was _pissed_. So: It hurt a lot.

Rubbing my head and glaring at Jell-O, I didn't notice Near slinking towards us and seating himself next to the hateful gelatin dessert. I stared at him for a millisecond before returning to my headache. Listening to the music eased my pain just a bit.

I pouted, "You, Jell-O, are a cruel boy. How can you hit a girl?" I used my best puppy eyes and silently vowed for revenge. I could tell at that point that we were going to get along quite roughly, but nicely enough, no daily bloodshed.

"Same way you can make yourself look like a dork, easy as cake." He replied poisonously. Insults rushed into my head, giving me a slight period of clear thought before I launched into full battle mode. In that moment I turned on my special A.R. playlist, at the top, Fairytale. I instantly relaxed, not caring if Jell-O looked at me like I was mental. Ever since that fateful night I was partially lost to the reality, not giving a damn if I came across as intimidating or crazy or anything like that.

Roll with the Wind came on and my mind went to wheat fields and rock beaches and gray skies. The freedom that rang in Alexander's voice somehow freed my soul and let my old, pure self leak through in the form of a smile. The Wammy boys stared at me in shock, well, except for Matt, who relentlessly trudged on with his gaming.

"You are lucky, very, very lucky that A.R. is at the top of my playlist. If he wasn't, I would've ripped all your teeth out and boil them down and make you drink the concoction that it produces, page 24." I smiled as sweetly as the chocolate in his hand and got up, headed to lunch, and enjoyed the compliments I got for my voice.

*** In math I nearly fell asleep with the lesson. Yes, the teacher (Ms. Sumpter) is great and all but I was college math in a fourth grade class. Frankly, I didn't think Near or Jell-O belong there either. They were of a genius brand of kid, and they got the grades. Maybe they got secret classes.

"Honey, would you like to answer the question?" Ms. Sumpter asked, as sweet as my namesake.

I looked at the board and whispered the question to myself, "Twelve times fifteen divided by three then subtract five and add ten. . . Well, that's simple. It's twenty-five." I said, a techno song pounding into my head. It was a mystery how I could hear so clearly with the music playing in my head. I guess it would have to lay with the Loch Ness Monster and Big Foot in the category of the unexplainable.

She clapped like only an overpaid fourth grade teacher could, like she was on crack or she was an oversized baby. I tried to look beyond her insistent clapping and smile at the gratitude that she gave me.

Jell-O smirked, probably thinking that he was at the top of the world, oh, how I wanted to prove him wrong.

Just then, the phone rang. Ms. Sumpter picked it up and listened intently, nodding slowly but gaining speed, a smile spreading across her face. I didn't know why, but it sincerely scared me.

"Someone is calling for you in the administration office, Honey. It's very important so you'll be excused for the rest of the day." I nodded and picked my stuff and threw it into my backpack. A sense of dread filled me as the kids I passed sent me pitied looks of sympathy and remorse. I felt as if someone had thrown a grenade into my stomach just to watch it explode. If you've ever felt that kind of thing, then you know how sick it can make you feel.

On my way to the office, I started cursing mercilessly, not knowing if I was walking the path of death. If I was, don't you think it would have been better to listen to Creature Feature than A.R.? I thought so until I let the lyrics calm me. Death didn't scare me anymore, not since. . .

As I was torturing myself with these thoughts, someone decided it would be funny to come sprinting at me and slam me into a wall, grinding my poor backpack to dust.


	8. Chapter 8

I shouted, "What is your damage?" But as I looked up the words either died or went into an immediate coma. In front of me was an older teenager with the blackest hair I've ever seen. It came in bushels and never ended. The eyes were the emptiest voids I've ever seen. Just staring into them made me feel insignificant and small and worthless.

"Damage?" His voice dulled the effect of his eyes barely, enough for me to gain my self-confidence and pick myself up and gather some good insults. "I don't have any damage, but I think you do." He gestured to a miniscule cut on my knee, something my shorts didn't help protect.

"Eh? Oh, this. . . It's nothing." I stared at it like I was Jell-O and the cut was a chocolate bar, fixating it until the boy interrupted me.

"Are you sure you are okay?" He asked, putting his thumb into his mouth like a toddler. I suddenly felt very uncomfortable in his presence and I told him exactly so. "I'm making you uncomfortable?"

"You're special, aren't you?" Mostly sarcasm. Mostly. But there was something about this guy that I didn't know about. He really did seem special. He wasn't in class and didn't have anything with him. Maybe a lunatic or a robber? How could I know?

"Thank you for thinking so. And yes, I am. I am L." My eyes widened. He was L. I can't believe it. I gasped and took a step back. Then I realized. I had no idea who L was. Sure I had an ear for eavesdropping but L. . . Nothing sounded less familiar. Wait a tick, yes, I had heard of him. He's the guy that everyone hear thinks is a creepo, like me.

"Ah, so you are the one who tied the girl to the chair and forced her to admit her part in the case of the missing class field trip money. I must say, I'm surprised you're this young, but genius call for maturity. In fact, I believe you must be insane to be considered one of a genius mind. And I like your tactics. Well done, chap, well done. Good day." My headphones started a new tune, something sleepy and dreamy and. . . I didn't know how to describe it.

As I walked away I sang to myself, "_Just like a crow chasing a butterfly, and your eyes lost in the summer sky, when you and I, when you and I, ran out of space, I never thought you'd_ _slip away_." I swayed back and forth in time to the music, probably resembling a drunkard.

In my mind, everything was dark. Pitch black, no light coming through. Music was the splash of neon that my cold, iced-over heart needed. After the music, my heart and soul and mind were twisted and distorted into something a little more than magical. It was artistic.

Keeping with my pace, I sashayed to the administration office, loving how no one else was in the hall, just me. By myself I could break out in song and no one, not a single person, would judge me.

I neared the door and as I reached for the knob, the door thought we had too much time apart and decided to smother my entire front side forcefully, sending me into the ground with a sore nose and a sour attitude already in place.

Matt strutted out and looked at me for a spilt second before hurriedly kneeling down and asking if I was okay.

For some unknown reason, I pouted and stared up at him, lower lip jutted out, my eyes all big and questioning.

He gazed at me then burst out laughing, "Whoa!"

"What?" My voice was betraying me, it came out innocent and childish and honestly sounded like I was pleading.

He kept on laughing, louder and louder still, "It's nothing, you're fine, I just. . . You are so cute!" He patted my head, sending my heart into spasms. What the hell were this feelings that welled up inside me? I didn't like them, they contradicted my other, darker feelings that I clung to.


	9. Chapter 9

_**So, hey, guys! I am so sorry for not updating in such a long time! I've been really busy since school is just around the corner. But I promise you right now: I will update this story of mine every Wednesday to make sure I'm not lazy. Also, I've gotten so many wonderful reviews from loving and awesome people. They've given me so many good tips that make my story better. But recently, I got two really nasty reviews that didn't help me any. **_

_**If you have problems with my story, please tell me what I can do to make it better. Do not call my Honey a bitch, slut, whore, or any other nasty names. If you don't like my story then there is no reason to write a hateful review and make me sad. Thank you. ^_^ And research your facts before you say anything. **_

"Uh, thanks, I guess." I said embarrassingly, blush slapping me directly in my face. It didn't make me angry, nope, it just made me too defenseless. I tried to collect myself, picking myself up and making sure my nose wasn't broken.

"No problem, Honeydew." He said lightly, obviously not caring if he crushed me with that name. I stood there, shaking and failing at holding my anger in. . .

"Actually," I whispered to hide my rage, "It's only Honey."

"Oh. Really? That's kind of weird."

"Is it any weirder than Honeydew or something like that?" I stretched my nose muscles and glanced at the hallway behind Matt.

"Yeah, but everyone really smart has a codename. Matt, Mello, Near. . . I thought Honeydew was yours." He shrugged. Then I stared down at the bulge in his left front pocket. It became clear.

I sort of smiled, a weird kind of glee showing on my face. "Oh, I see. You're a tech, aren't you?" Briefly, I remembered that I was supposed to be the angry and mean bully child but couldn't summon the anger that had been there a second ago.

The goggles on his head caught a ray of the light outside – yes, the weather did improve – and somewhat captivated me until he kindly waved his hand in front of my face. "Yeah, in a sort of way."

"That's cool." I looked at the door. "I'm sorry but I have to go in." I swiveled around him and ducked in, holding the door open for a second, long enough to turn around, "I don't know why, but, thank you, Matt. You're a pretty nice person. . . . for Jell-O." I smirked and went in, ready to deliver my fate on a silver platter.

*** Remember when I said that I was ready to deliver my fate on a silver platter? Well, turns out that platter was rusted so my fate took quite a tumble. Now it is three weeks later from that time that the door ran into me.

*** "You want me to be a detective?" I asked, sincerely confused on how I could've gotten into the super-nice list for the role. Only children with integrity, curiosity, and a craving for truth and justice could get into this class or life choice.

*** Like the idiot I was, I agreed to join this class and it took up my entire lunchtime, eating my brain away like nicotine eats at your lungs and your life. Nervously, I bit my lower lip and glared at my peas relentlessly until Jell-O decided it would be funny to shove my face into the peas.

"Why'd you have to go to the office?" Jell-O asked pompously.

I wiped a napkin across my pea face, "What makes you think you deserve an answer after you peaified my face? That sounded bad."


	10. Chapter 10

"Sorry," He said it so sarcastically that I didn't know whether to slap him or make pity eyes at him, each resulting in a rumble, "Happy now?" An evil grin came across his face.

I stared at him for just a millisecond before deeming him unimportant and turning to Matt. "So, Matt, are you in the special class, too? I'd hate to have to be alone." For some reason, an American band called the Cheetah Girls came on, the headphones resting at my neck still able to be listened to. My lower lip pouted the tiniest, I made my eyes dilate (at least, I tried) and grow wide; giving me the look of an infant or a puppy/kitten.

"Kind of." He shrugged, glancing sideways at Jell-O who had just gotten my ',too'. He is such a slow boy, but what boy isn't?

I stayed silent long enough for him to explain but he didn't, just made me feel like a fool. "I see. . ." I said, stroking my imaginary Homes goatee. I looked from side to side and sucked in my cheeks to give a truly idiotic look but it somehow felt right on my face. And no, I did not just call myself idiotic.

Jell-O exploded, taking the collar of my shirt, screaming at me. A gasp escaped my lips and I leaned forward to protect my only highlight of the day: my Tapioca pudding cup.

"C-calm down, Jell-O!" I stuttered, increasingly worried that his shirt would spoil my dessert. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't go so far to protect my stoic nature by not being worried for my life. But, honestly, I think – no, I _know_ – that I could take this scrawny little blonde any day.

"No, I will not calm down! Are you or are you not in the special class?"

I didn't hesitate. "I am." The second I said that, he seemed to deflate and sunk back into his chair.

"Oh." He said pathetically. In that moment, I did pity him.

*** In the deepest part of London, a shadow stirred.

*** Out of nowhere, I got the chills. They ran down my back and up my arms, leaving me in goose bumps and a terribly ominous feeling that someone had been watching me or called my name.

"What's wrong?" Matt asked, not really caring if I answered. His gaming system buzzed and dinged.

Jolting, I sat up and straightened my pretend bowtie. "Nothing. . . I just got the craziest sense that someone called my name." Timidly, I peeked all around me, taking in the scene. Not sure if I had officially gone off the deep end of the deep end I cleared my throat and lay back down.

"That's strange."

"Thank you, Matt."

"Why are you hanging out with us again?" Jell-O asked, anger rising in his voice. The feeling started to fade.

Swiveling, I faced him and stared at him for exactly thirteen seconds before answering, "That is an easy question to reply to. It's quite simple indeed. The only reason I'm here is because I like Matt."

Jell-O seemed to blush, but a smirk was on his face. "Well, aren't you a little slut? First you flirt with Near then Matt? I don't know what L sees in you."

In that instant, I wanted to pound in the stupid boys face but, no, I did not. I controlled my anger and instead did something much better. "I like Matt as a friend, you dill hole, and Near is really just a cute kid that you always pick on because he's smarter than you. You know, Jell-O, you don't always have to be such a mean guy."

That shut him up for at least a fraction of a second before a wild blush lit up his entire face, causing him to fall back and hit the sand with his black clad bum.

I smiled, "And that, my acquaintance, is called karma. Matt, I'm going to go and get some rest for my broken heart. That and I'm hungry." So with the grace of a three year old, I got up and trotted only five feet before losing my balance and face planting in the sand. "Just great." I spat around the sand in my mouth, blush leaking onto my face at the hideous sound of Jell-O guffawing hysterically.

_**Thank you for reading this chapter of The Wammy's Honey! This is a very special chapter because now I am going to give a round of applause to all those wonderful reviewers that make me cry and laugh and keep writing! Thank you very much to: TheFr3ak, CallMeHush, Synsual, ritsuka552, Chloe1593, Ajk Insanity, xxxIDKanimexxx, and finally PinkCherry135! I love you guys so very much for encouraging me!**_

_**IMPORTANT MESSAGE: If you live in Arizona and you are planning on going to Saboten-con, I will be there! I'm cosplaying as Matt from Death Note (ironic, I know) and my artist, Pinky, is cosplaying as Jell-O! Leave me a private message if you want to meet up! ~3**_


	11. Chapter 11

*** THREE MONTHS LATER***

It's been a while since I had joined the 'Genius' class of the orphanage and that change had been the most significant choice I've ever made. Ever since I amalgamated into the class, I've been given tasks. Things like if there are fourteen suspects, which one is guilty? They tested my skills more than any other schooling system I've ever had.

"My nails have grown really long, haven't they, Matt?" I asked, extending my arms to him.

His goggled eyes stared at my hands for at least a minute and said, "Yes, but they're cool that way." He tapped his finger against the longest of all nails, the dreadful pinky.

"You think so?" I grinned, plotting a situation where I would scrape my nails alongside Jell-O's arm to see if Matt's theory was correct.

Just as I was thinking about my plans, Jell-O smoothed down a strand of hair that stood out on my head.

"Good morning to you, Honey." He said in a singsong voice, a second away from skipping down the aisle to his seat. On his face lay the biggest smile I've ever seen on him. I touched my hair to make sure that he didn't put anything in it.

Matt was just as confused as I was. "U-um. . . Mello, what's wrong?"

"There is nothing wrong with me, Matt." (*insert creepo smile here*)

I gaped at him in horror. After all these months of being at the orphanage, I'd grown to the prospect that there would always be an angry Jell-O to fight with. And now, here he was, smiling and grinning like he was on crack.

"Hey, um, Jell-O? Are you on some sort of drug that influences you to be nice? If you are, please stop taking it. Being nice doesn't suit you." I said gently, really concerned now.

He smiled at me as if I hadn't just insulted him and moved to pat my already ruffled hair again. I shuffled backwards, holding up my hands to protect myself from whatever disease was infecting Jell-O. Matt moved just a fraction after me, clambering over a desk and elbowing me.

As I groaned, Near entered the room and looked at the scene. A smiling Jell-O and two honestly scared kids cowering at the back of the classroom. He said nothing, as per usual, and then took his seat. I shot him several '_HELP HELP HELP_''s but he ignored them all.

Instantaneously, my mind worked rapidly. "Jell-O-"

Jell-O interrupted me, "Call me Mello." An insanely creepy smile lit his face.

Terror shook me and begged me to pee. But I didn't. I squared my shoulders, swallowed the horrified lump in my throat, and said boldly, "Mello, why are you acting so. . . differently?"


	12. Chapter 12

His grin smacked me in the face. "Well. . . Near got a 99% on the last test."

Matt stood straight up and nearly face-palmed his brain out before I hooked his arm around my own. I swallowed again, not with fear, but with such an overwhelming sense of pity. If Near getting any score lower than 150% makes Mello this happy, just imagine the day that he beats Near. He'd probably have a victorygasm or would go into shock. . . Or both.

Nears shoulders seemed to hunch just the tiniest bit, giving me a rapid intellect of L. I walked over to him, bending over to pick up a knocked over chair before crouching next to him. I stared at him, looked into his stoically gray eyes and leaned in close to his face before I. . . made the funniest face I could imagine then slapping his back lightly enough so I wouldn't hurt him but hard enough to make him jump.

"You've got to pick up the slack, Near, you don't want to have me arrest you for getting anything less. Never let Mello beat you again, okay?" I said heartily, painting a grin as wide as a barn on my face. Mello's face darkened. I turned to him and smiled wryly and secretly gave him a wink. You see, I don't want Mello to be happy. I know that sounds mean but think about it: Mello, our Mello, smiling and being cheerful. Somewhere, possibly in that bloody America (yes, I know I'm American), a flock of pigs were taking flight. It's that unnatural.

"Piss off." He growled, his mood souring dangerously, the phase had passed, and Matt sighed in relief.

I swiveled back to Near to slap him once more just before catching the tiniest, cutest voice in the existence of albino orphan geniuses. I barely caught it, "You didn't need to do that." So low that only I and the local part-bat hobo that lives behind the toy store could hear. It surprised me somehow, not an easy thing to do when you've witnessed the gory death of your parents at the extremely tender age of nine.

After a second of consideration, I leaned over and whispered back, "Oh, but I did."

*** That same day: L sat opposite of me, in his hands were lollipops and on the desk lay my latest assignments, hopefully homicide cases, those were my favorite kinds.

"What's wrong? Is something troubling you?" He asked, voice as dead and monotonous as the grave's rotten stench. As always, L saw right through me, inspecting my innards like an idiotic teenage boy does when he's trying to impress a girl by cutting open a frog without gagging. Only much, much, _much_ more skilled and precise. Actually, I don't know why I would think of such a contradiction. Maybe I've become insane? That's funny.

I hesitated, grinding my teeth against my tongue and cheek tirelessly. Then, as if as dam broke, it all rushed out, "L, I have to ask: Why are you going to Japan?" A while back, L got a letter asking for his help from the small sea country of Japan. It worried me deeply because L, instead of turning it down or telling the men that we could handle it, he got quiet and his eyebrows pulled together. How would I know? I was glued to his side when he got it.

Yes, I've been 'adopted' by L. And when I say adopted, I mean he took me under his wing and made me his little stalker. I follow him around like a virginal groupie, not the kind with STDs.

"That's easy. There is a certain case that needs my immediate attention. Don't worry, it won't take long, don't worry."


	13. Chapter 13

_**Sorry that this is so short, I'll make the next one much longer. . . . I hope. High School is making me lose my mind and right now it's even better and even worse. I've ruined a friendship (on purpose), I've gotten into this really depressing play (I'm good like that) and right now my eyes are red. I'd like to thank xxxIDKanimexxx for all her encouraging and if you checked out her new story about Death Note, I'd love you forever! Thank you!**_

"I know. . . It's just that you normally look at a case and know who the culprit is. Is this thing in Japan so serious that you have to leave us?"

*** I stared out of the tear-streaked window – the weather in England is absolutely dreadful – and wished that I could've stalled L's car to make him stay. I knew that he was an important part of the investigation but it still confused me. I had dropped it that day after he assured me he would be back in no time.

A horrible feeling spread into my stomach, twisting it and contorting it that had me wincing and anxious. Matt could tell as much and a few girls in the choir asked me what was wrong. I had replied that nothing was wrong, just a slight headache. I couldn't tell them that I had been combing my brain and the library looking for answers to my problem.

"What's wrong with you?" Mello asked, pompous as always. I ignored him and went back to listening to determined music, racking my brain for clues. "Uh, hello, I'm talking!" And when I barely looked at him, he decided it would be prompt to smack my side with a textbook.

I was knocked to the floor and gasped as my sore butt connected to the floor.

"What the speckle, Mello? You get off on knocking people down?"

"No, just tell me why you're spacing out!" He yelled back. I got up and started to throw a punch when a new friend of mine held my hands back.

Her name was Mackie. We started to talk in choir and she was an interesting girl, you know, besides the fact that she didn't know any English. She was Egyptian, her skin pure caramel and her hair the sleekest black ever imagined. The language caught me off guard, mostly because her singing was so fluent that I had just assumed.

After a few seconds of wrestling me to the floor, I sighed and thanked her for stopping me from _ending_ Mello and getting arrested. She smiled and nodded, walking off to join Linda and her. . . Near club.

"Anyway, what's up?"

I looked at Mello and deemed him worthy of my burden. "Did you think that it was strange that L had to leave?"

His eyes darkened. He had been thinking about it, too. "Not really."

Anger flickered in my head as Miley Cyrus drew the line, the line, the line. "Don't give me that, Mello/Jell-O/whatever. You know something is up. You're just better at hiding it than me."


	14. Chapter 14

**_Hey, what is up, FanFiction? Thank you for reading this latest chapter of The Wammy's Honey! Please leave a review, message me, or read on and ignore my good advice! You know, either way! Hahahaha! No, it's okay, I'm just glad you're reading! _**

**_I have a question: If given the choice, would anyone like to see a preview of my newest (and original, no fanfiction) story? I would try to sneak it in here between chapters, you know, under the table, where the dropped pudding is (Smosh reference there XD)! _**

Mello's face flickered in emotion as my truth hit home. "That's. . . L is fine, okay? He's just doing his job. He'll be back before you know it. Don't worry." He walked away, glancing back at my worried and small self.

*** Just a few days after L left, Roger took us all to the nearest strip mall. A group of kids went to the toy store, a few to the food courts, a large bunch went to the clothing stores. I strolled by myself around the whole place. Whenever I was left alone, I wallowed in my thoughts, making plans for the future.

An alley lay between the toy store and the book store. I had been grazing the walls with my shoulder and when the alley dipped in, I lost my balance and stumbled a foot into it.

It smelled of rank garbage and darkness. If you were to give darkness a smell, it would resemble a moist and disturbing gym sock.

"Who are you?" The creepiest of voice, so like L's, whispered to me from behind a can. It made me jump a tiny bit. But I regained my cool and replied, "Depends on who is asking. Who are you?"

Someone chuckled and my darned attitude flared. I had never been the one to take an inflected insult, if you hadn't already known that. I strutted into the alley and found the source of the ghostly laughter. I gasped, but didn't move an inch.

In front of me sat an older boy with red eyes and jet black hair (so much like L's). He resembled L to the point where I was conflicted on whether or not to smother him or beat him to a pulp. But I glanced at his wrists which were covered in old scars and new marks. He was an 'emo'tional kid, homeless, with tattered and worn clothes. On his shirt, his disturbing shirt, resided the largest jam stains I had ever seen. Though I've never really seen any peculiar jam stains in my life. . .

Somehow, his appearance rang a bell in my mind. L had talked about someone like this. . . . What was that kid's name? CC? No, it was more like. . . Oh. _Oh._ OH. Oh!

"You're BB, aren't you? You are him, right?" I took a step back for L said that BB was dangerous, very dangerous. His eyes fluttered insanely for a second before he shyly asked, "You know my name?"

I was confused, elated, and fascinated by the fact that his personality could change. It made him more interesting. . . And dangerous. Though I sensed the danger, my body and my mind knew I could handle it. In fact, if push came to shove, I could most definitely take his lithe body and snap it over a wall.

"Yes, I guess I do now. L told me about you," I hesitated because BB's eyes darkened, "you were one of his first successors, next to A and C. You look much like him, though there are very striking differences in tone, appearance, and clothing. But you're him, BB, in the flesh." I stood back and rested casually against the store's outer wall, ignoring the fact that there was so many germs and garbage residue. A techno song came on in my headphones and I paid it my full attention.

He flinched, "L. . . You love him, don't you? You _absolutely adore him, _don't you?" His voice would've scared the blonde out of Mello but it didn't leave a scratch on me. Nope, I'm too much of a stubborn child to let his demonic voice and creepy appearance deter my curiosity.

"I wouldn't say adore. I look up to him. Not to the point of obsession, of course, but I'd like to think of him as a brother or a friend. I'm going to assume that you're not exactly his number-one fan." The headphones buzzed with music. I tried my hardest not to sway or tap my foot, to ignore the melody and bite my tongue from breaking out into song.

BB chuckled, lowered his head, and started fiddling with his hands. He must have forgotten that I was there for he kept it up for five minutes. I bit my lip and glanced at the sidewalk that led away from BB and his inner turmoil. Any minute now, Matt would walk along, Mello in front, Near trailing behind. He would peek inside and find me beside the wall. Near would say nothing, such a shocker. Mello would flip and drag me out by the ear. I chuckled at the silliness of my friends.

"Um. . . BB? Yeah, sorry to say so suddenly, but I have to leave." I paused. His hand motions stopped (stop thinking dirty) and he turned to me again.

"Why so soon? Don't you want to stay and play with me?" His eyes bored into mine, trying to smother me, no doubt. I gazed back, mesmerized. Then, with one crushingly hard to bring up breath, "Honestly, no."

"But I wouldn't be so troubled as to come back at a later date or meet up at a new location. Now, I really must go. Goodbye, BB. You know where to contact me." I flicked my hand in the universal sign of departure and slid down the wall until the sunshine lit my face and warmed me. Just in time, I suppose, for Matt had just exited the closest store and was making his way down towards me.

"Matt!" I yelled, skipping to him. Mello wasn't with him, so I could freely jump him without any crude remarks.

He wasn't startled by my hug or by the happiness in my voice, just pleasantly surprised. "So, what's Mello doing?" I said, scrunching up my nose and wriggling my tongue like a crazy person.

He sniggered and detached himself to start playing his Nintendo DS. "Eh, you know. Buying a month's worth of chocolate that he'll eat in less than a week. The usual." We laughed in unison, my voice being the soprano and his being baritone and Mello's being a perfect tenor.

"So, what did you get?"

"First-person shooter, course. You?"

I thought back to my discovery of BB and giggled. "I found something very interesting." The delight in my voice shone through to Matt, making him look up.

"What is it?"

I laughed again, high and girly as it was. Then, I skipped ahead and turned away, only to look back, finger on my lips, "It's a secret!"

**_Thank you! ~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~_**


	15. Chapter 15

*** It's been three years since L 'died' and two years since I've come into contact with any of the Wammy's except Beyond. I've been isolated from my natural surroundings, haven't seen the rusted gate of that orphanage in quite a while. But I had kept a little picture collection of my brief stay there.

"_Egy nyelv sosem elég! _One language is not enough!" I yelled into the phone, loving the way the Hungarian language just exploded through my throat. My reluctant boss agreed and shoved the phone to a close. Then, he walked across the hall and rapped on my door. I opened it and gazed at his angered eyes.

He sighed, praying for someone to come along with a rope and strangle him, "Honey, you cannot just call me in the middle of the night. Jó éjszakát!"

"Harold, Harold, dear Harold. It is still light out. Why not stroll around and adore the country?" I glanced outside, hearing the Hungarian vibe pulse through the glass and into my own personal rhythm.

Poor Harold, I really thought I had pushed him over the edge then. "H-Honey, I think it's time for you to call your friends, you know, talk with them."

I stared at him blankly then frowned. "Well, fine, then. I'll just talk to all my Hungarian friends on the phone and have a party with them. Really hit me above the waist, didn't you, Harold?" I slammed the door on his face and twirled around. I stalked over to the bed and fell down into it. Even though my insomnia denied me any rest, it was a blessing in Hungary. Just something about it made me feel calm and somewhat at ease.

"Nem emlékszem. . ." I really didn't understand. Ever since I left the orphanage, all alone, I had felt the largest weight lifted from my shoulders and put on someone stronger than I. I had left and traveled by myself, doing secondhand labor for only a few wages at a time. That's when I met Harold, my thirty-five year old boss. He took me in and gave me assignments such as finding a homicidal maniacs and the like. It was easy, so very easy, since I had a crush on one.

Yes, BB was my crush. He captured my heart and my sympathy on that first day. Soon, he manipulated it and started making my heart pound. When L 'died' and Mello, Near, and Matt left Wammy's I really only had an inclusive group of loyal friends. Like Mackie, who I've talked to on several occasions, they gave me inspiration, courage, and a new flame to continue burning for.

Thinking of Mackie, I grew country-sick and flipped open my phone. I opened my pictures and looked through them, smiling every now and then. Frowning, a tear crawled upon my eye, begging to hit the bed sheet. _Not so fast, you dirty little pest_, I thought. I smacked my face and heard my thirteen year old stomach grumbling.

Beaming, I sat up and put on my shoes. Harold had told me to only go out when I urgently needed to. Well, if I was dying of hunger (in Hungary) then I could go and get food. But as I opened the door, Harold popped inside with a hectic look in his eye, holding our maps.

I instantly turned serious and took some of them from him. "What's wrong now?" I heard him say into the cell phone that was attached to his ear. Then – the little eavesdropper I am – overheard him sigh in frustration. "Just deal with it, George, we'll be back soon. No, I have no idea where she is," He mouthed: _Where is Ben Phillip? _I mouthed back, _Last time I checked, he was at the **** *******. _

I turned around and peered around the window's shades, examining any type of danger possible. A blocked alleyway, a café, a trickle of Hungarians; but there was a tall, leathered man with somewhat blonde hair that stood just outside. My hear leaped a bit, just a smidge, until he looked up and showed the manliest brown eyes. Disappointment rained on my Hungarian parade.

"We're clear here, Harold." I made my way around the bed and his hunched figure and opened the door, glaring at anything that moved. There was nothing deemed dangerous in the hallway.

"Here, too; go ahead. But be careful of the walls." I sat down and crossed my legs and waited anxiously for whatever Harold had to say.


	16. Chapter 16

Waiting for him took forever so to relieve tension, I plugged in my ancient headphones (yes, the Wammy ones) and played My Dirty Secret twice before playing my favorite Fairytale. I hummed, "I'll give you my dirty little secret. . . Don't tell anyone or you'll be just another regret, hope you that you can keep it, my dirty little secret."

Music still was my precious escape to the harsh reality that I was alone and a little dead inside. My bubble of music had certainly expanded over the years. Owl City was another great band that helped me get past all the horrible things of this world to get me where the truth lied. Wait, didn't you know? To be a genius, you have to get past all the doubts and be as sure as heaven and hell. But it's also about surpassing the world and finding the truth.

Harold shut the phone closed, a vein popping up from his forehead. "Well, it seems that during the time that we've been away, there has been a cult outbreak in Japan. He saw me stiffen and quickly recovered, "Don't worry, people have already been dispatched."

"I'm not worried." _I'm so worried, my stomach is churning. _"It's fine."_ I can't hear the music, the light is dimming. Honey! Open your eyes, show no weakness!_ "Anything else?" _L, my dear, my marvelous brother. Please be safe and alive or. . . I'll be even more alone than before._

Harold, my middle-aged boss, only sighed and said good night just as he closed the door. The second he did, I curled up by myself and wished that my mother was there, holding me, telling me that I was special and loved. . . _Poppa slowly said, "You. Are. Loved." _ A tear rolled down my teenager cheek as memories of Christmas's and Easter's and just the nights that my parents had read to me. Yes, my life was screwed up. Possibly I was the most miserable child out there. I lost my parents, my adopted brother, my friends, my life, myself. New tears fell in the same old tracks that the previous ones left, stinging my nose with the salt.

"Honey, you are loved and you are so worth all this effort." My cracked voice murmured to itself, repeating the useless words until somehow – God willing – I finally started to believe them. It was futile to do so, the effects of the chant had dimmed over the years of wear and tear damage I had left upon them. So, instead, I said things like, "I'm going to be at the top, okay? Yeah, I'm going to triumph over that weak little Kira and show the entire world that I – a solitary orphan girl – could and _did_ defeat the tyranny in Japan." It had worked very well back then.

I wiped my face clean, clearing my face of the betrayers. Then, I manually pulled apart the TV's plastic covering and got to work creating something that Mackie helped perfect. Wires of a thousand colors popped out and I grinned. This is challenging. . . Bring it on!

About thirty minutes later I had made a bomb, set it to explode in five minutes, diffused it, then I put it back together, not a single scratch on it.

Three hours later, I was looking up the latest whereabouts of my Wammy boys. Mello was last sighted near a small, dingy pub hanging around a tall man. Matt, I presumed. Near was much harder to find and locate since he never left his headquarters. But I still found him, using the global tracking system that I had gained access to quickly after leaving the orphanage.

Lose Yourself then came on my portable stereo. My foot started tapping and I stood up, my pre-puberty hips swayed in time to the rhythm. "Rock the life, girl, rock the life girl!" I sang happily along, my previous depression forgotten.

Luckily, I was always light-footed. If I hadn't been, the people in the room below me would've never gotten a wink of sleep. I pranced around the tiny room, arms flailing, legs reaching toward the ceiling. My messily tied-up hair fell loose, slowly following my progress around the chamber. Whenever I turned around I saw a curtain of reddish brown until gravity caught up to me and the curtain fell to my shoulders.

*** He took the knife, which was covered in his preceding victim's bloody remains, and plunged it into her chest. He grinned as blood splattered across his already stained shirt. Then, a thought struck him. Was it the way the girl took her last breath or was it her hair that reminded him of _her_, the one who wasn't afraid. . . Why did he think of her? Why did he think of her often? Confusion temporarily took over just before he twisted the dagger, picked up his bearings, and licked his strawberry jam covered hands. _Honey. . . _Why?


	17. Chapter 17

_**Due to certain reviews and situations, I am announcing that I am not going to be posting anything else for this story from now on. In a few months, I may pick it up again but for now it will be discontinued. Thank you for being there for me and giving me joy, sorrow, and a good time. – Orabelle Hiomi Zefronke **_


	18. Chapter 18

_**Hey! Yes, I know that my previous chapter told you that I was quitting this story and that it was going to be discontinued, but I've had a change of heart. I am erasing that chapter and starting anew. I'd like to thank someone very special for showing me that this is not just my story. It's yours, too. Thank you, Olivia, for leaving that review. Olivia, you're such an awesome person, I just wanted you to know that! Enjoy the seventeenth chapter of The Wammy's Honey. **_

Viva la Vida played in the background as I sat in the car, watching the ruins of Greece fly by. Streaks of history lined the windows, rain falling like long-awaited tears. Harold drove silently. I gazed out the window noting how many lives were destroyed here. Epidemics, fires, earthquakes, the list goes on. Questionably, I looked outside and saw raw history still playing. People lined the streets doing their normal Saturday errands. Oh, how I wished I had some type of chore that made me want to continue on.

_No, I can't think like that. There are people just beyond my window that are starving and homeless. I can't be like that anymore. . . I'm thirteen, I need to start growing up. I need to be more mature, more like my parents. _

"Hey, Harold. . . Have you ever heard of the story of the Baby Doll? You know, the one about the little girls who each had dolls? One was red, one was white, one was blue, and the last was orange?"

He glanced back at me, "I remember my older sister telling me something of it. Why?" The sky passed by me, clouds filtering out the bright sunshine, it was going to be a rainy day.

I bit my lip and scrunched my nose like a rabbit. "It's just that the dolls told each girls fate by the color. If I had a doll, what color would it be?" A black thread came loose of my jacket so I tugged at it until it finally ripped from the seam and fell into my palm. I stared at it nonchalantly. Trying to be mature and selfless was hard for me since I had been narcissistic after the death of Momma and Poppa. Reality hit me hard with its iron-clad fist.

Harold didn't reply for at least half an hour. I had almost given up on him when his response burst out of nowhere. "Honey, I bet you'd have the yin doll."

"A yin doll? Harold, what does that mean?" I said ignorantly.

He blushed, "It's the Yin from Chinese belief. All dark and hateful on the outside but loving and pure on the inside. Like a British gentleman I know." He scoffed.

For just a second I was silent. "It's Thomas, isn't it?" Apparently, my guess rang true for – like a cheesy anime – an arrow went straight through his chest. He hang his head. "It's Thomas." We sat there for the rest of the trip to the airport like that. Harold pretended to bash his poor skull into the steering wheel when the light was red. Me, I sat cross-legged, smirking mercilessly.


	19. Chapter 19

Sadly enough, the airplane started playing music to soothe our edginess of the storm by playing "I Can Be Your Hero" So, obviously, I became quiet and wished that I had a person to do that. I mean, Beyond is my crush, but he's in America, doing whatever he does. I know I shouldn't be ungrateful. The big guy upstairs had been pretty good to me since the death of my parents.

All the while that the song was playing, I grew silent and stared out the window. Pangs of envy and of loneliness shot through my messed-up heart. My nose scrunched up, tears prickling the edges of my eyes like little claws. Harold sat in the row ahead of me, listening to notes on his phone. We had been assigned to an empty plane, so I could roam and pay attention to things that others would deem unorthodox.

_This stupid song. . . Is making me depressed_, I thought as I stalked to the back of the plane. There was a ridiculously gorgeous stewardess. Her beauty fueled that anger, I tried to refrain from using it in my voice, "Can I change the music?" She said yes in a voice made by God himself. Hurriedly, I plugged in my Walkman and played an endearing song, one that made me feel like crunching a few bones.

I walked slowly back to my seat, "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger. Work it harder, make it better, do it faster, makes us stronger. . ." I grinned, leaning my smile to the far left, giving me a look of utter lack of mercy and made me seem scarily like L.

My butt fell into the seat with a _plop! _Just as it did, my phone buzzed in my buttocks pocket. I pulled it out. BB. With four words, he sent a blush hurricane through my face and neck, leaving a chaotic mess of pulled eyebrows, bitten lips, and hair covering the face. _I think of you._ Despite his murderous rep and his overall stalker promise. . . Gosh, this boy would be the death of me. . . _Honestly_. Then a thought smacked me: Would BB find that angelically built stewardess attractive?

Once the plane finally touched ground again and I made out with a reluctant cement landing ground, Harold stuck me in an armored car that took me to my personal apartment in the upper-class of London, right near Big Ben. I lay on my ultra-comfy couch/bed and stared at the ceiling. I let the emotion of solitude engulf me. Silence hovered just above me.

In that stillness, I thought of the people I knew: L (real name unknown); Near (he told me on a paper that it was Nate. . . such a cute name); Mello (I still refer to him as Jell-O, no matter what name he's really); and Matt {real name is Mail (pronounced as Mile)}. Then, I think of BB. . . Ms. Sumpter (she had retired six years after I left), Wammy, Harold, the other bosses that I work for. So many people that care about me, so many people that want to chop my liver into pieces and put it into a stew and make me eat it. . . Linda.

Thinking of her made me remember that first day when I overdramatized about Near and thought something like. . . He had wings? I don't care. I just remember her _Near Club_. Gosh, how that had made my entire life worth it then.

Seeing myself then and now, I can tell that I was a huge 'female dog' and a complete 'donkey' and a 'vagina cleaner (douche)'. I get it, I really do. I'm still afraid to go back there for long before running to her. Maybe she had left to make something of herself before she properly got to know the world, like Mello did. The second he found out that L had 'died' he had run away, seeking to revenge his mentor's killer. Near, without a competitor, left swiftly after. Matt stayed longer than any of us. But he was a bit lost and broken without Mello to bark his commands. He was still there, last time I had checked.

Again, my phone whirred. I groaned. Slowly, I pulled it out and paled when I saw the caller ID. _No, not him. . . Please, let this be a dream. _


	20. Chapter 20

*** Being on a plane, crossing the whole of Europe, writing a stiffening report of your equally tedious target, finding a way home through an angered limo driver, and getting a phone call from the person I least wanted to contact me: It all wore me out beyond compare. Tiredly, I dropped the call and fall back into the cushions, craving peace.

"Honey, you've really got to get a grip on that situation. Do it before the world catches up with you and subtracts fifteen years from your life." I stifled my voice into a fluffy yellow pillow. It's faux fur rubbed against my skin. To close the afternoon smoothly, I curled up in a fetal position and absorbed the whole comfort of haven. I was alone, I was safe, was alive.

Insomnia turned me around, put me upon his knee, and beat me furtively; in terms of sleeping, in terms of dreaming. Well, dreaming and sleeping are two completely different things. When you dream it's like somehow you become light and drift into the sky, feeling the clouds move under your hands. They're as soft as satin, as creamy as a French custard. Sleeping is a health condition that benefits you. Insomnia is sleeps evil cousin.

Seeing as how I wouldn't be dreaming of a certain homicidal maniac, I plucked a controller of the floor and started playing a random first-person shooter. This one dies and that one almost kills me. Grinning a sadistic smirk, I growled as 'I' jumped from my hiding place to kill the other team's leader. Heavy metal fueled my gamer's hatred, screaming motivational words to me.

*** Five hours later, I had finished the game and had beaten any local champions in the northern regions of the western hemisphere. That's genius talk for: I had overused any chance of playing that game ever again. I felt like Matt, a hard sense of Jetlag hitting me in large waves.

I groaned, predicting the arthritis that was already starting to coil my fingers into little old lady twigs. Three cartons of caffeinated soda lay empty and unsatisfied at my feet (get your minds out of the toilets, people, it's just soda bottles).

Exhaustion banged me on the top of the head, pounding a week's worth of headache into my brain. If I moved, a fresh surge of pain came. So, all alone, motionless, I thought about the call. Why would he even call me? I mean, it was dangerous to mail me. But to call me? Was L insane?


	21. Chapter 21

_**I have a reason for my lack of update: I have been locked down from my laptop for the past week because a stupid virus decided to be funny and shut me down whenever I turned the dang-ed thing on. Luckily, Honey wasn't deleted. Thank, thank, thank you for still reading The Wammy's Honey even though a lot of you think she's a Mary Sue, and a dark one at that, but I took the test and it said that she wasn't that much of one. I just need to make her live a little. Maybe I'll have her get a tattoo? Leave a review or message me if you have an idea! Enjoy ~***_

If having him alive as a constant reminder of what a messed up child I was, wasn't enough; how could I bare to hear his voice? Trying to tell me something, this made living with others difficult. I had avoided every single call that I received from him. It was probably incredibly important. But it was beyond me to answer and listen to him, knowing he abandoned me.

Ever since _it _happened, I wasn't very good at trusting people. Matt, Near, Jell-O. . . They were completely different. Jell-O was as screwed as I and Near was just so much like a doll that it felt like I was by myself. Matt was like L. He was a sibling, earned reliance and friendship. It hurt me to leave him at the orphanage by himself. If I hadn't though, I wouldn't have had the revelation of heroism.

"Lew, here I come!" I rolled to my side and hopped up. Stretching my legs, ignoring the pain in my palms, cracking my back; to my concern, a knock sounded at the door. I stalked to the wooden mass that thankfully stood between me and the stranger.

Croaking softly (my voice was intensely sore because I had been screaming at the top of my lungs, "HA! DIE, YOU AMERICAN BASTARD!") "Yes?"

"Honey Charter, you're not going to believe this! Let, let, let, let, let me in!" I sighed deeply and unlocked the door. It was my neighbor, who was also a slave of Harold's tyranny, Griselda. We had met three months after I left the orphanage. Being placed in the same protected apartments made us unlikely friends.

Griselda was my exact opposite. Her long blonde hair and her sea green eyes made her nearly irresistible to any male being. Even the local animals liked her. She smiled like the sun, bright and brilliant. In every case, Griselda was chipper and happy; I was dark and depressing, dry and ironic. My short and choppy (I had childishly cut my hair on the plane) brown waves were boyish and unattractive. Deep green eyes that made people back off if I stared at them too long. . . I believed that by gazing at people, I replayed the deaths of my parents in my eyes. Maybe that's why they shuddered, cringed, slid off to their own niche? My smile? It could make mercury boil!

"Hey, Griselda," I murmured as she flitted in, "What's the news?"

"We've got a mission together! Isn't this going to be so exciting?" (writers note: Yeah, I'm apologizing to Honey as I write this. . . This trip will be harsh for her! XD)

All of a sudden, my world went into strobe and I saw a million different ways that the trip could've ended. A whole lot of them ended with me in jail and Griselda in the ground. Just after I thought that, I felt a wave of guilt that whooped my butt because Griselda was such a cute, innocent thing. My twistedness might soak into her, creating a whole lot more problems for me.

"That is wonderful, Grizz! What are we doing together?" Pasting a genuine smile on your face is very hard to do. Somehow, I succeeded. Griselda eeeked! and jumped repeatedly clapped her delicate hands. Ashamed of my own two hands, I ducked behind the breakfast bar and started making lemon tea. I winced at the pain in my hands, thoroughly worried at the cracking in my hands.

Griselda touched the seat before sitting down on her perfectly rounded butt. I ground my teeth in envy. _BB would like her, _I thought_, he would completely salivate over her._ Sadly, I had no idea if that was true or not. The last time I had talked to him, he was speaking to me through a cheap payphone near Los Vegas. It was over two weeks since that conversation had sent butterflies to occupy my stomach.


	22. Chapter 22

"Well," She paused, the excitement faded slightly enough for me to notice but quickly recovered, "It's in Tokyo. Isn't that electrifying? I mean, think about it! The fashions, the foods, the language! Don't you think that the Asian languages are so beautiful?" I pointed out in my head that one of her flaws was that she spoke only in questions and exclamations. It annoyed me a tad bit that such a noisy person had a more productive love life than me when I spoke so little. Maybe that was because when I spoke I had only spiteful and dark things to say. Griselda speaks of happiness and joy constantly, so that may be the answer.

I shuddered considerably but was able to hide it by hitting the 'Grind' button on my blender. Putting both my hands onto the shaking mass masked my discomfort exceptionally well. Japan was naturally a good place to be. Like Griselda said, the whole culture beckoned the world to come and sit and relax while sipping on oolong tea. But with that specific person there, hiding in a tall building behind a stack of computers made me ill. Thinking of being that close to L without having him beside me or near him was unnerving.

"Are you alright, Honey?" Griselda's eyes became as large as two full moons.

I shocked back to reality, which was my homely apartment, and said, "I-I'm fine. Just a bit unfocused from the plane ride. What was that you said? The Asian languages are beautiful? Ha! No, they're short and choppy and incomprehensible. Now, Hungarian is a wonderful linguistic. Haven't you ever just wanted to yell _Jó napot kívánok _outside your window on a cold morning, waking the world?"

She grimaced, "No, it sounds like a pack of wild boars that were set loose on a rabbit. It's as if it rips out of your throat. I _**do not**_ want my throat ripped out!" She crossed her arms. I sighed playfully, ready to debate. One thing for sure, I liked being able to change the subject or the motive of said subject with Griselda.

"As if! Does 你好 sound like magic to you? I highly think not!" After that, we had a debating battle which ended in teenage laughter. It rolled through my stomach and sent me into even more laughing fits. It was good, so very good to laugh like a normal person. Like I had a parent to walk in and shush me and my friend lovingly. But I had no such luck or hope of Mommy coming in and scratching her head like a parent who really loved me.

*** Three days later I had crawled out of bed and looked out of my window, saw the stormy rain, grabbed my coat, packed my bags, and went for a trip. Before leaving I left I consumed my apartment once more. I was grateful for everything there.


	23. Chapter 23

_**Sorry about such a short chapter update but I'm so late with the deadlines that it's all that I could manage. In fact, to show you my dedication, I'm in a computer lab (it's 6:54 P.M.) with two really modern teenagers. One REEKS of smoke (don't get me wrong, I love all you smoking fans out there but the smell kills me) and one is wearing so much makeup that you can't even tell she's of Mexican descent. That's white. Like, kabuki white. Anyways, I just wanted to say sorry and I hope you enjoy this little tidbit of a chapter as much as I loved dreaming it then writing it! **_

Hesitantly, the key turned in the lock and I walked away. The limo was already there. From outside, I could hear Griselda's high-pitched, girlish squeal of delight. As I unlocked the door to get in, I got the sensation that whatever needed our help in Japan somehow involved Kira.

Hearing that name resonate through my blood made me woozy. I took a step backward, unable to hold back a single, salty tear that rolled down my cheek like it didn't care if it broke my heart or not. Which it didn't, luckily. I felt that if it did, I would still be the same Honey Charter. The same cold, bitter, nearly heartless wench who would never have a companion other than middle-aged Harold or same-aged Griselda.

Don't misunderstand me. I like BB. . . A whole lot more than I should since I know what he could be doing to someone at this very minute. A knife? A little torture? No, that wasn't his style. He would play with you, slowly driving you mad. Then he would plunge the dagger into your stomach, twist it around for good measure, and leave you dying.

Beyond Birthday. That's his real name. He told me near the time he left London. I was ecstatic to finally have him trust me enough with his greatest secret.

Ever since Kira came into reign of the world, your name is your downfall. It's your secret and you're utmost possession. Having a unique name was like signing your own death certificate.

I was smart though. Throughout my travels and my searches around the world, I have encountered several unnamed children. L had told me that you can't die from a 'Death Note' (whatever that is) if there is more than one name like yours. So, I hatched a plan. Every unidentified child that I met I had named Honey Charter. I check in on them every once in a while, just to make sure that they're all safe and sound. I have at least fifteen worldwide.


	24. Chapter 24

Without doubt, no one could kill me by my name. They'd assume that Honey Charter is such a unique name that I would be killed off easily. But I'm not. Oh, how I'd love to see Kira's face at that!

That's why I don't need a ridiculous nickname like Near, BB, L, Mello. . . Matt is a pretty normal name so he's good. I don't care if people know my age, my birthday, no one can kill me by my name. I don't have to hide in a cramped building, hoping that I'll live through my day. Out of all the things that God accidentally put into my gene pool, fear was not one of them. My fearless behavior came from my father who had fought in many wars as their chief doctor. _Thank you, Poppa, for giving me another part of you._

*** One of the things I despise about Griselda? Yeah, it's her happy-go-lucky, possibly-on-crack attitude. It goes on 24/7, all year round. On the ride to the airport, on the plane, in the car heading towards the hotel, in the hotel, at the restaurant; Griselda was running on a tap of constant tourism.

What did I want to do for the first four hours of Japan that we had before work started? I wanted to go to Akihabara, explore the lay of the land, eat some really fishy (heh, I made a funny) noodles, maybe get some miso, read a few books on the culture. Think I got to do what I wanted?

Instead of doing what I wanted, Griselda forced me to go shopping with her. She bought cute dresses and fashionable Japanese shoes. Me? I bought five new wigs (high-quality), got some threads for my punk look (every other day), forced myself to eat the many confections that Griselda gagged me with, and got at least ten new Lolita outfits. Yeah, if you haven't noticed, I'm a bit into Gothic/Punk chic.

It all happened the day I left the orphanage. The second I exited those gates for the last time as calling it my home I felt lighter. My body seemed to float on an adrenaline high. I couldn't help but accept it. The only thing that still troubled me was my clothes. They had the same, lingering heaviness of the past that I desperately wanted rid of. Hurriedly, I got to the nearest store and guess what it was called. "Gothic Chic" in bright, Halloween-themed colors and letters. I stepped in, overwhelmed and intrigued by all the black, blue, purple, and fishnet.

Thinking back, I realize that if I hadn't gone to that store first, I might've turned out as a prep, a jock, a _cheerleader_, or I might have ended up as one of those invisible nobodies. Goth fits me perfectly, no questioning it. Though I wonder. . . If Matt, Jell-O, Near, or L were to see me what would I act like? Like the child they abandoned? Like the metallic, fire-breathing girl that I was now? Like the woman I was yet to be? Or was it none of the above? What if I were to not recognize them. . . No, that would be death. I would rather die than to ignore Matt and his sweet (but slightly guilt-inducing) self. Jell-O on the other hand. He's had the most time to change. _Where are you now, Mello?_

*** "Whoa." Griselda whispered under her breath. She clutched my side, putting me between her and the mass of flesh that was our case. Blood stained the walls and the flashing of the cameras from the police didn't make anything any easier to digest.

All of the policemen stared at us with pitiful sideways glances. I gritted my teeth and stepped forward. Mr. Tanaka was our client and now? As dead as can be, obviously murdered by whatever. My stomach had taken worse, but it still sent fear and sadness through me as I replayed the night my world crashed in my head. Over and over and over again.

FLASHBACK: _We made our way home. Just as we got outside, a man in a hoody came up and shanked my mother in the stomach. She screamed, I stood stock-still. Blood rapidly leaked out of her clothes. _

_Poppa ran around the car to save her. He threw his phone at me and I dialed for the paramedics as fast as a nine year old could. I backed away to safety, yelling the emergency, hearing the rushed fighting of my poppa and my momma and the stranger._

"_Please, please! Hurry! My momma is hurt, please hurry!" I gave the address, correct down to the exact house decoration. I prayed and hoped and wished that the police would appear instantaneously. But they didn't. _

_I turned around just as my father fell down in a clump at the killer's feet. He smiled; he was basking in the tainted glory of my parents' deaths. He then looked at me, my nine year old vulnerability. Mr. Killer sauntered toward me, my parents' blood scattered across his jacket. I fought the urge to gag. I could hear sirens in the distance. The distance. He was too close to me, they were far away. _

"_Come here, little girl." He purred. _

_I shook my head and took two steps back. He took two steps forward, reached for me, and received my enraged fist. It happily connected to his crotch, and in a brief burst of passion, I did a roundhouse kick into his jaw. The solid crunch it made would've made my poppa proud, if he weren't dead yet. I highly suspected they both were. _

"_How dare you, you, you, __**murderer**__!" I shouted as the police finally arrived. Mr. Killer made an attempt to escape. He didn't make it. They had him down on the ground before I could start to cry. _

_One, only one, kindly officer had courage to approach my bent over figure. I was shaking with inward tremors, tears flooding my eyes. "It's okay, it's okay." He said as he made to pat my back._

_I yelled, "No, it's not! My momma, my poppa, they're dead! He, Mr. Killer, he murdered them. I'm alone, all alone. I've no one now! I'm all alone in the world, so don't say it's okay. Because it's not. It will never be. As long as my parents are dead. Never, never, never, never!" I clutched my head and continued my sobbing. _

How I wish I could be hit on the head and forced to forget.

"H-Honey, I don't want to be here!" Griselda's vase-like grip brought me back as did the smell of freshly spilt blood. She was shaking, this was her first death.

Like a crouching tiger, I backed away and nudged Griselda out the door. "I'll take care of this, Grizz, don't worry. Go back to the hotel and I'll be back soon." I grinned and swiped my hand against her face as a sign of comfort. Then, I flitted back to the scene, as grim as can be.


	25. Chapter 25

_**Yo, whazzup my peeps? I hope you love this chapter of "The Wammy's Honey" and that you stay with it until the bitter end (it's not going to be soon). If you're new to the story, say hi to Honey, Grizz, BB, L, and the rest of the Wammy boys! Kick back and read on about a dark/depressing/NOT-A-MARY-SUE/gothic orphan who solves crimes with a smirk and a swift flick of the bird. **_

_**There is a short mystery that will be written soon explaining the whole Japanese case that ended the last chapter uploaded soon on FanFiction and FictionPress featuring Honey and Grizz and a curiously sticky situation. **_

_**Enjoy!**_

*** Three Months Later: Have you ever had Christmas in America? If you haven't, well, plan it. Because I, Honey Charter, love it. Well, Grizz told me that I'd love it. Still waiting for the whole affection part to come.

The last Christmas that I'd had before my world caved in was with my parents on the miniscule island called Bermuda. There were tales of mystery about the surrounding waters. Of course I believed in the whole charade then. Currently I say differently, but back then I followed my parents like the duckling a child should be. . . Or shouldn't be.

Things were so peaceful that holiday, so much happiness crammed into that little island. Though I know that if I ever returned to Bermuda that it would only fill me with sadness and blurred visions of my nine-year-old smile, my father's youthful grin that stretched to his ears, my mother's blonder curls wrapping around her loving face.

Griselda yelled at me jokingly, "Honey, if you nap anymore, people will start to think you're a Sleeping Beauty. Come on, grumps, we've got a train to catch." Her optimism stirred me to get up. . . Or was it her hand that moved me along the teeming halls? I've still no idea how she successfully carried my limp figure across four platforms, onto the train, into the private cab, only to dump my unconscious frame in an unbelievably uncomfortable chair.

All the while, I was muttering things like "trains are for chickenferrets", "why, why did he have to go for Lisa instead of Kary", "Princess Domo", and "those crazy dogs, always getting up in my grills". By muttering I obviously mean that I was screaming at the top of my lungs. It explains the bump on my head.

After about an hour of sleeping of boredom, I awoke to a certain smell. It gave me shivers, it was cold and minty. Like. . . OH. My eyes opened. Right in front of me – I mean that, the thing was about three centimeters away from scraping my eye – was a decorated Christmas tree. Adorned with peppermint canes, pictures of Grizz and I (many of which I did not know were taken), and bulbs of red and green; the tree was anything but homely. In fact, gaudy was more like it.

In a chair opposite me, there sat Griselda, folded like a delicate bird. She was sound asleep and her angelic face was still: a pleasant change every once in a while. _She's in R.E.M.,_ I thought blandly as I smiled at my friend.

I stood up to stretch. Wincing at the cracking in my bones, I strolled to the wide opening of glass and gazed out at the blurring country of all that is the U.S. of A. Buildings sat in the distance, joints of banks, hotels, and food restaurants could be recognized.

Griselda mumbled in her slumber. I turned to her. Watching Griselda sleep was like having a toddler snuggle into you as they drifted off to wherever they were most safe in their minds. Peaceful, amusing, and yet it came with a protective need. I guess that's what friends are for.

Returning to the scenery, I said aloud, "What am I now, Momma?" Here is my deepest secret that no one knows: I ask my dead parents this same question when I believe I've accomplished something or have come to a crossroad. It may sound weird but I still think back to when my parents told me I was loved. Does anyone really love me now? Grizz might and so might BB, though his voice never hints to it. L? Ha! The Wammy's couldn't.

Well, I don't need anyone to love me. Why am I thinking like this? I'm not some poor, weak doll that's waiting to be rescued or pulled out of this hellhole that the bastard killer gave me. I am Honey Charter. Screw whoever thinks they can make me pathetic. I'll do this all on my _own. _

Just as I was gripping the railing and thinking these triumphant thoughts, a waiter came in with a draped cart covered in shiny plates.

I paled.

"U-ugh, I'm sorry but could you please get that out of here?"

"What?" He asked politely.

The room started spinning. "I need you to get that – that whole dish out of here. Please hurry!"

He was confused now. "Which one?" My panicked voice woke Griselda. "What's going on? Oh, yeah, the food's here! Yum, crab!" Then she saw my face.

It was too late, the whole room was tainted with crab smell. Vomit churned in my stomach. My vision started smearing. I tried to talk but my throat had closed up.

"Sha krapp, sha krapp!"

Then what happened, you may ponder as you scroll to the bottom of your screen to see an insane list of random words that I used (yeah, it's there)? Of all the wimpiest things to do, I faint. I freaking fainted.

Chickenferrets - the bastard of a ferret in heat and a drunken chicken, duh.

"why, why did he have to go for Lisa instead of Kary" - some random bachelor show that involved a Lisa and a Kary

_She's in R.E.M. _- R.E.M. is abbreviated for Rapid Eye Movement which is fancy-fancy for deep sleep

"Sha krapp, sha krapp!" - The crab, the crab! It's how I talk when I'm near, eating, or smelling crab


	26. Chapter 26

_**I hope you all had a lovely and fattening Thanksgiving yesterday! And if you don't celebrate Thanksgiving, I still hope you had a marvelous Thursday and that you're having an even more celebratory Friday (or whatever day of the week you read this chapter on)! **_

_Times like these, I'll just float around and gaze at the little humans hurrying in their cars. They all look so worried, it brings a smirk to my lips. Silly, moronic humans. _

_Another winged creature flies up to me, breaking a cloud, scaring a flock of pigeons. "Honey, what are you doing up here?" It's voice couldn't possibly hint to the creature's gender. Spidery and willowy were the closest words that could guess to its features. I knew it and it knew me, we were quite familiar, it and I. _

_I replied, "Roku, there is nothing to fear up here. Unlike down there, here I can be free. Why do you stay down there, even when you know of its troubles?" I glanced at him, my eyes grazing it's rough exterior. _

_It chuckled, a sound that grated against your ears and forced you to blink. "What can I say, everything gets boring up here. Down there, with those pesky humans, everything is new and dramatic. Even freedom wears down to boredom, Honey Charter. Just remember that." With a final wave, Roku dove and hit the world with enough force to give life to rocks. _

A flicker of movement. "Honey? Oh my god! Please don't die on me, Honey, you're my best friend! Oh, I'm so, so, so sorry!" Griselda wailed into my chest. This made it hard to breath but I was still weak that I couldn't push her off.

What happened? I thought this just as the indistinct smell of cooked crab wafted to me. It was masked by fresh air (the kind you can buy at Wal-Mart), cherry pie, and peppermint. Though all the scents in the room were strong and somewhat ill-made (except for the pie, that was exquisite) I felt the remaining blood drain from my face.

Griselda shrieked at slapped her hand across the air in front of my face with jumpstarted force. "Ah? Get more of the peppermint, John, hurry!" Have you ever had peppermint sticks thrown into your nostrils? Well, it hurts. Badly. Something in the chemical makeup of the sugary/spicy treat makes your nose burn until you are forced to forget that you're allergic to crab and snap your eyes open.

I shrieked at threw myself upwards. John, the unfortunate waiter who had brought the sin (the crab), gave a yelp of his own – though he couldn't compare to mine, we were on completely different ranges – and flew backward as Grizz' arms flailed helplessly.

Ripping the sticks out of my nose, I inhaled the mixed smells heavily. My lungs couldn't get enough of the contaminated air.

Ten minutes later, John was back to serving normal people, Griselda was flipping through a Christmas catalog, and I was wandering aimlessly across dreamland. Complete exhaustion washed over my somewhat frail body, everything except my chair/bed/resting place appeared twisted and blurry.

Griselda spoke nonchalantly, "You never told me you were allergic to crab."

I nodded sleepily, "S'well that cannot be helped –" After that, everything was a haze. Griselda slipped off into her own world, the world outside faded to indigo, then to navy, then to black. Pitch-black. Stars as bright as L shone throughout the sky, illuminating the darkness and giving a hopeless girl something to believe in.

*** The Next Morning: Practically everything was back to normal. Notice how I say practically.

Griselda asked, "What do you want for Christmas?" Her eager eyes always bring out the truth in me, another weakness that I have.

I replied dully, "Um, well I suppose I'd want to go to Los Angeles." Nonchalance was never my strong point in lying so Griselda had to jump on it like a rabid animal.

"What's in Los Angeles, Honey? Hmmm?" She had become a slinky creature, curling around the arm of my chair, poking me. I cursed myself for telling the truth. The truth never worked with me, we were never the best of partners.

I gulped. "W-ell, that is for me to know and for you to forget about. Just leave it alone, okay? Let's get with the holiday cheer that I've heard of. Also, I want a brown leather bomber jacket, like the ones that silly Americans wear. They're really cool, huh?" With that, I shut off the conversation. I couldn't let her find out about what was _in_ Los Angeles, no, it's more like _who_ was in Los Angeles that made shivers pay a visit to my spine and sent worms to eat at my stomach.

_BB. _Gosh, even his name could send me into giddy fits of happiness and fascination. We were headed to Chicago on that train. Illinois was so, so far away from him and yet: it would only take a plane ride and a taxi to get there. If only Griselda hadn't been with me. . . Well, let's just say I wouldn't have spent my Christmas with happy-go-lucky Grizz and John if I could have left.

If. If. My life is filled with ifs. Am I going to life till tomorrow? Will I be gunned down or will I drown? Shall it be death by poison or death by heart attack? If I make it till tomorrow, I'll love more, try to forget the past. That is my mantra. But of course, things (life) don't work out that way. Yes, I lie to myself daily.

Just then: I felt the urge to plug in my ancient headphones (a sentimental memory that I lug around) and play some Flyleaf. It was the strangest and most urgent impulse that I had had in a while so I hurried to do so. The moment I had them over my ears and had my midnight-black-painted fingernail pressing the button, I knew the subconscious itch was right, oh so right.

One of the greatest types of music to listen to when you're angry is metal. It clangs inside your head, making your decisions before you even think of them. Flyleaf only reinstitutes that basic fact by a thousand times over.

Music engulfed me. "_I'm so sick! I'm so sick! If you want more of this. . . We can push out, sell out, die out! . . Infected with where I live, let me live, empty please of their selfish tricks!_" Skipping lyrics every now and again, I became the guitar, the base, the drums, I lived and breathed metallic air.

I really had forgotten how great it could feel to listen to that old music, I became the nine-year-old that hid in her room listening to Toybox, Alexander Rybak, Flyleaf, Akon, and The Lonely Island. Being that little girl again hurt my chest like a brick wall decided that we had too much time apart and thrust itself onto my front. A.K.A.: It hurt like hell.

With the ache came the wit. Remember the first few chapters? Yeah, I think I – Well, "Don't Trust Me" was like my theme song. Except that I wasn't screwing an actress who had a boyfriend with a lot of beef. More like, trust me with your life and only receive regret in the process; however, now I had a friend and a career and a love interest. Though many readers might think that the Wammy boys are somewhat of a love interest debacle, they really aren't. "Just friends" doesn't really count for crap here (yeah, sorry, got to keep it K+, I know it sucks) so I guess that "More-like-the-brotherly-neighbor-type-that-gets-on-your-nerves-but-you-like-them-and-trust-them" fits best.

Everything has changed so much from that very first line that started it all. So long ago that I can't even remember how I ended up on this train, in America, a friend by my side, a man awaiting the chance to call me (that's the prettier way of saying it), and with a whole whopper list of goals to accomplish. Wait, no, I lied. I do know. Without my parent's deaths, I wouldn't have been like this. Can I say that I'm glad that they died so I could do more good for the world? Can I finally move on?

Answer is: There is no possible way for me to let go of what happened. It plagues my mind, my body, and my soul. I can't say that I'm glad for all this pain and heartbreak and anxiety that Death has caused me, nor can I say that I've moved on. A deprived-of-hate me?, there is no such fate for me. _I _can't even see myself smiling without a care in the world, not chasing anything, not desperately wishing for something. It's just not a conceivable outcome. How can I put it into words? Oh, I know how. It's like if Sebastian suddenly fell for Grell and they had little ginger-butler babies (don't worry if you don't get it XD) or if the moon abruptly spiraled out of control and collided with the planet Pluto (_**I am a firm believer that Pluto is still a planet and always will be**_). Yeah, it's that freaky.

_**ANNOUNCEMENT TIME: IF YOU REALLY LIKE THE WAMMY'S HONEY, WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE APART OF IT? I'M THINKING OF MAKING A LITTLE WEBISODE SERIES OF THE STORY AND NEED PEOPLE. IF YOU COSPLAY DEATH NOTE OR THINK YOU'D MAKE AN AWESOME GRIZZ, HONEY, HAROLD, OR WHOEVER: GO TO YOUTUBE, TYPE IN "THE WAMMY'S HONEY AUDITION ALERT" AND WATCH THE VIDEO. IT SHOULD BE UPLOADED ON THE FIFTH OF DECEMBER! CHECK IT OUT, MY PEEPS!**_


	27. Chapter 27

_**I am incredibly sorry for not updating on my regular days. Yet again, my schedule has changed, so my new update days will be Monday and Friday. Besides that, nothing new (except for the mountain of work that I'm having to complete) is going on with me. How are you today? (This is my way of making conversation when I'm apologetic. I'm really sorry! **_


	28. Chapter 28

*** As Christmas drew ever closer, I convinced Grizz that I needed to spend this particular holiday alone, trapped in the confines of my apartment. She pouted but I told her that it was just a part of the Honey package; all holidays that aren't spent working are consumed by me unaccompanied.

At last, Griselda gave in and we flew back to England. The airport was flushed with tourists, crying mothers, excited children, and awaiting passengers. I hurried out of there as soon as I could before my head gushed open and out spilled the holiday lyrics that had been drilled into my brain. Oh, how I wanted to escape right then and there. Get onto another flight, sit back in a chair, and gaze at the winter clouds.

"Are you sure you want to be alone, Honey? I have people to be with, but you're going to be all alone." As if she couldn't get any cuter, there she goes – eyes as wide and childlike as a doll – trying to comfort me. I grinned as merrily as I could muster.

Setting down my luggage at the foot of my door, I said, "Yes, Grizz, I must. Besides, I'm such a downer. You go. Have fun for me." We bid each other adieu and I ushered myself inside. Clicking the door shut felt like I was sentencing myself to death row. Quiet and hollow was I as I unpacked my things and bustled around the loft. I grazed my hands over the pictures I had missed: a picture of my mother holding her first pet (a cockatoo with bright orange feathers), Poppa kissing Momma with Big Ben in the background, the orphanage, L eating cake (as always), Near and Mello fighting (this was taken secretly), Matt flipping out over winning one of his games, and me holding a German pickle ornament.

I put on a kettle of water and when it began to sing, we had a contest to see who could go higher. Obviously, I lost. The tea had been made and I plopped onto the sofa. A Christmas special was on. I remembered that I glanced at it deeply, pausing on their happy faces. I pondered why the television had be such a prick and only show me what I had wanted, what was imaginary, what was never going to happen.

The phone started to ring. I jumped from being mesmerized by the Disney-like show. Then, as I gathered my blanket around me, I went to pick it up.

Scratchy as the voice was, I could still gather a few key words. "W-what is it, Arthur?" I yelled into the phone. It was Arthur (as mentioned, DERP) who had been a sore on my back for the last six months. No matter how cruel or harsh or violent to him, Arthur never failed to show up and spit in my face. I have at least four scars that he's caused on my arms, legs, and neck. But that's another story entirely separate from the one that Orabelle is forcing me to tell (_**Ha, I'm not really forcing her! XD No, she's just an attention-loving Mary Sue!**_)

"You know what time it is?" He screamed into my ear. I held the mobile about three inches from my ear for two minutes, listening to him wail and bitch (a querulous nagging complaint) and whine.

"Arthur," I sighed, readying my hand to face-palm the hell out of my forehead, "What do you want? If you don't tell me, I swear I'll hang up."

He heaved a heavy sigh and grumbled, "Never mind that. Just come here."

"Where is here?" I asked.

"The BAR of Monkeys and Fish. Come." With that, he ended the phone call and sent me reeling into my sofa, pounding one aggravated fist into my poor, poor pillow. That specific bar was the last place I wanted to be so near Christmas. I weighed my chances of not going. If I did, I would surely get a slurred, blurry-eyed Arthur waiting to chew me out. If I didn't, I might as well said goodbye to my front door and anything that could stand in the way of a drunk Arthur.

The Bar of Monkeys and Fish was a strip club. I was thirteen – about to turn fourteen, mind you – and the last thing I needed was getting myself arrested for trying to enter a bloody _strip joint. _Arthur? He was only two years older than me. Tells you something about his character, doesn't it?

So, I wrapped myself up in two jackets, pulled on my winter-proof boots, placed my beany upon my messed up hair, and headed out the door. Just as the door's lock clicked into place, I was hit by a wave of snow and bitter wind. Sluggishly, I forged a path along what I thought was the sidewalk. Shrieking wind didn't hinder me, the snow soaking through my pants couldn't hinder me. What did slow me was the distant mewing that I heard across the road. It must have been intensely loud if I could've heard it over the mini blizzard.

My snowed shut eyes searched for the source of the meowing. It came from the right of me, so near the edge of the sidewalk that I took my leisurely (as if trudging through a blizzard could be considered leisurely) time. When I reached the muffled noise, I saw a drenched cardboard box. Curiosity compelled me to peek inside.

Inside lay a note, a rough, careworn blanket, and a petite black kitten. Her fur was mottled with snow and flying garbage. Her eyes shown blue, a beautiful change from the whitened snow around us. As I stared at her, she gazed up at me, begging me to make her safe. I stared at her, the little delicate thing.

With a final meow, she mustered enough strength to stumble up for a millisecond before collapsing again from thirst, hunger, and loneliness. My heart (yes, that shriveled, blackened, hardened thing that resides in the corner of my body) shook – trembled is more like it – and nearly shattered further at the sight of her struggling just to be alive.

I didn't think about it. Not for a minute. It was irrational but I did it anyway. I plucked that little angel from her hell and transported her to the warm and slightly cozy insides of my jacket. She mewled constantly, gratefully. I smiled, clutching my treasure underneath my coats, and made the rest of the way to the bar untroubled.

*** "What the hell is that lump on your chest? Don't tell me, you've got chest cancer!" This is a guessed interpretation of the first thing Arthur said to me when I somehow stole passage into the club. Half naked girls' lay/danced/poled everywhere. I nearly bit one man's hand because he had mistaken me for a stripper. This is ridiculous. I looked like a demented thirteen-year-old stowing away an angel in cat form beneath her portable jacket collection.

I sighed, "Hello to you, too, Arthur. How are you?" A glare was on my face for in front of me sat Arthur, a gorgeously hideous girl bouncing on his lap. Disgust was the main emotion that I wore, other than fear of him discovering the kitten and trying to eat it (he is crazy when he's drunk), or rage at the place he decided to send me to. Also a bit of confusion at how he had everyone fooled that he was twenty. Looks like a fifteen-year-old boy to me!

He smirked childishly and motioned at the girl that was now grinding against the devil knows what. I would kill myself before I had to be forced to work as a stripper.

"Don't you want to join her? I have enough room for the both of you." He spread his legs and grinned wider. His speech was garbled and unclear, I could smell the distant reek of alcohol on his breath.

What would I do?


	29. Chapter 29

_**Yo, what up again? (I know I don't have the right to play off my absence like it never happened, I've already facepalmed myself thrice!) Just want to say again that I own nothing from Death Note (though it's nothing about Death Note now, is it?) and I'm not affiliated with any of the actors/artists/producers mentioned in this chapter of "The Wammy's Honey"! Also, a new video of this show is up (I'm shamelessly promoting myself again) and it's called "The Wammy Project Auditions v.2" So, yeah, check that out! Yay! Enjoy!**_

Ha! You know what I did! I smacked that boy hard on the noggin without jostling my prize. I retorted sassily, "You are one sick, demented imbecile if you think that I'm ever going to join your little prostitute on her throne of idiocy that is you." The stripper/prostitute only smirked like a cat, like a little boy with a rotten heart who had gotten away with someone before he even did it.

She purred, "He's just happy." Was she trying to be funny? The kitten shuffled a tiny bit and my heart broke all over again at the memory of her stuck in that hellhole of a box.

"He won't be able to be like that for long." I gritted my teeth at Arthur's lap accessory, recovering from the heartbreak quickly.

She sneered again (how fit they were for each other) and curled her perfectly shaped – I blame liposuction, that butt is just too small for a real English stripper. My little bundle of joy shivered. I thanked God that she/he/it hadn't wanted to poke around.

I grinned back poisonously, "You are a gorgeous potato sack full of STDS. I'm going home, Arthur." I strutted back out the door, relishing in her angered expression. Arthur's face was hidden from me but I knew that he was smiling also. Given everything, I believe that Arthur is a horrible human being but an excellent genius-detective. We shared the same black humor and the grim outlook on life, though I highly doubt Arthur shared the same background as me.

Outside, I felt that it was too dangerous for me to walk far so I marched a half mile to a pub that Harold lived above and used a payphone to get a snow-proof truck to get me. I saw Harold but I figured that I shouldn't bother an old man when he's celebrating his holiday with a bottle of vodka.

*** The millisecond that I opened the door to my apartment; I ripped open my jacket and gently placed the kitten onto the sofa/bed. I scooted to the refrigerator and got out some tuna that I had opened then forgotten about and dumped it all into a tiny bowl that Griselda had gotten me once. Somehow, I knew that I needed it in the future because I didn't chuck it at the trash as I usually do gifts from new strangers.

Rushing back, I found that cat sniffing its surroundings. It looked so innocent that if I touched it, its bones might've broke. Honestly, I had no idea how to act around her. So tiny was she that I couldn't help but stalk her with my eyes as she began to explore. I started pouting without realizing it, the petite angel was just too cute for me to handle.

"What's your name, cutie?" _Was this really me speaking? No, it can't be. . . But it is, isn't it? What is this cat, an angel from the Heavens? Or is it a luring demon from Hell? _

It looked at me, really looked at me, and mewed happily. Then it made its way to my nose – my bright red nose (still hadn't warmed up from outside, it was only five minutes that I had been in and the heater had been on) – and proceeded to lick me with its rough tongue.

I laughed and patted her lightly. Yes, I had checked. The kitten was a she. Now that I had figured out her gender, what was I going to name her? It wasn't even a thought that I was going to keep her, like you could ever give up that beautiful gift from God.

Chuckling, I said, "What am I going to name you, sweetie? Sweetie. . . Sugar is sweet, right? But you're not bad for me (at least I think you aren't, you're just too cute) like normal sugar, how about Splenda?" The kitten – Splenda – mewed her approval of the name. "Splenda it is, then!" After that I don't remember much, just the distant feeling of worry that my own momma must've taken when I was born. Not that I'm saying that I was found in a cardboard box on near 1 Addington street or that I was a kitten or that I breed cats. No, it's just that, looking at that adorable little child of the feline species; I had somehow awakened this kinder, gentler 'me', though I didn't know it at the time. It would be some time before that pint-sized cat peels away the wall I kept around me. But that future was unknown to me. All that I knew was that she wasn't going to be able to live off leftover tuna for the whole winter, that I had an incredibly gorgeous packet of sugar in front of me that begged for my attention.

On the radio played "Imagine" by the ever-growing popular cast of Glee. In some way, the song fit for the moment (or hour. . .) so I looked it up and played it over and over again, loving how it's beautiful mood swallowed Splenda and I.

Then, it hit me: I just found a cat. Or – pausing to look outside at the storm – did Splenda find me?


	30. Chapter 30

_**ANNOUNCEMENT TIME: IF YOU REALLY LIKE THE WAMMY'S HONEY, WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE APART OF IT? I'M THINKING OF MAKING A LITTLE WEBISODE SERIES OF THE STORY AND NEED PEOPLE. IF YOU COSPLAY DEATH NOTE OR THINK YOU'D MAKE AN AWESOME GRIZZ, HONEY, HAROLD, OR WHOEVER: GO TO YOUTUBE, TYPE IN "THE WAMMY'S HONEY AUDITIONS V.2.0" AND WATCH THE VIDEO. CHECK IT OUT, MY PEEPS!**_

*** Christmas Season came and went with a flash. Griselda stopped by for a day or two (though she really didn't have to) and adored my Splenda.

"That name is so adorable! It fits for your cat, since she's your baby. I always knew that you'd have a child and name it something original and kawaii!" Squealing as she spun Splenda around and around.

I chuckled as I leaned against the door frame to my office room, "She's not really my child, Grizz, but I know what you mean. She's a real handful but she's just so cute that she can get away with anything." At my voice, Splenda meowed her way into my arms, practically leaping from Griselda's into mine.

Grizz looked at me, really looked at me. Stood there and gazed at me gazing at my cat. "There is something different about you, Honey, I don't know what though."

I jolted, "W-what do you mean?" Splenda snuggled into me.

"Well, it's like your aura. It's gotten kinder, softer, and lovelier. I think it's Splenda that's doing it to you. I like it. Before, you were constantly in pain and anger. You never let yourself relax and that was going to break you, I saw it. But now: you look at peace, like you've finally learned how to relax. T-That's just my o-opinion though." She flushed and sat down, her hair covering her face.

I glanced down at Splenda, saw how she wanted to bury herself in my shirt. That couldn't be true, what Griselda had said. I didn't feel very different; though I did feel a twinge when Splenda would mew happily. I strode over to the bed/sofa and plopped down.

"Grizz?" I used my voice and gently as I could while holding back the slight annoyance.

"What?" She replied.

I paused then continued on, "I'm still in pain – that'll never change – but I'm glad that you said that. I'm not as angry and unstable as before but it's still here, in me. I know that you worry about me; you don't think I see it? Splenda is just a cushion that the Heavens have given me. Sometimes I think that _she _found me." After that heartfelt speech, I leaned back and stared at the ceiling.

Griselda lay on my lap, not saying anything. I remained silent, playing a song in my head. "_Dear Vienna, are you singing? Are you swinging? There's a lightshow out my window. . ._ _I recorded the world as such a sad place, until I viewed it in black and white. . ."_ Hearing it made me think of rolling hills and bright and clear skies. Of lying on a hill and just dreaming with my eyes open, looking at the stars looking at me.

The song made me thoughtful. I felt truly at peace then, with Grizz on my lap, with Splenda on my chest, with the snow smoothly falling outside. Then, suddenly, all that peace crashed around me.

*** Arthur had gotten the door unlocked and barged into my house. When he saw us he began to guffaw. "Ah, you lesbians make me laugh!" He crouched against my counter. Griselda blushed deep red (a plus to her beauty) and shuffled aside. She knew what was coming, the volcano eruption of anger that threatened to bubble up. She took Splenda from me.

Then, with one bottomless breath, I stood up – and erupted. "How dare you strut into _my_ home and call us homosexuals! Have you no shame?" This was the lighter material that I had said. (_**Sorry guys, but this fan fiction is K+**_) My fists were ready to fire, set dead center of his forehead and stomach and balls.

"Why deny the truth?" He snickered in my face. He though that just because he was older that he had the upper hand in this fight. How sorely misled was he.

"Oh, really?" I smirked back. Then I pulled back my hand and let the reign of pain begin.

*** About three minutes later – yes, Arthur was _that_ weak – I sat down again. His nearly empty body lay at my feet.

"Who," I grinned, "is a lesbian now?" I grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his head back so I could see his face.

He gulped down blood and murmured, "Not you, Honey."

I laughed mercilessly as I patted his head and said softly, mockingly, "Yeah, that's right. What about Griselda?" She stood at the counter in the kitchen, watching me worriedly with her big eyes.

Arthur had always had a soft spot for her (on several occasions I had teased him on it) and could only look at her with awed silence. I yanked on his hair. He yelped and I smirked even wider seeing tears forming at the corners of his eyes. Splenda mewed behind me, clawing at my back. It nearly broke my heart to not turn around and snuggle her to my chest.

"S-she's not one, either!" Then he looked up at me. Whether it was the tears or the naturally rebellious child look that he had, I don't know. I just stopped and stared at him – the older, less-intelligent genius – and thought about his real feelings about Griselda.

Would I let my best – not to mention only – friend fall into the hands of this waste of space pretty boy? He had the heart of a rock, his intentions are corrupt, and he obviously can't keep his junk to himself (see last chapter). No, that was never going to happen. I was never going to let that happen. I'd have gone berserk like BB and sliced his throat before I'd let that happen.

Griselda cleared her throat and slowly made her way to us. She politely tiptoed across his body and sat close beside me, reaching around to grab Splenda and plop her into my lap. And just like that, I let go of Arthur's hair and gripped my precious little Splenda in both hands.

"Aren't you so precious?" I muttered against her furry face. Griselda giggled and hugged me. Arthur gradually crept away from me and sat against the television set. He sighed.


	31. Chapter 31

_**Through the tough times, through the bad times, Honey has stood her ground. She has become a part of my Character family (Moon, Marceline, and now Honey of many others). At the beginning, I had absolutely no idea what Honey would become or who she would meet or what she would do in the world around her. **_

_**I've been racking my brain for over a month writing, rewriting, and rewriting again trying to tie off Honey's life in a way that would leave me (actually, Honey wouldn't let me publish anything XD) and all of you satisfied. I've let a whole lot of you down by my lack of update or chapter. But it is now here. I hope you all enjoy the very last chapter of my Honey Saga and hope to see you at my other stories. **_

I looked back at him. "What is it, Iggy?"

"You've gotten soft? How boring. . ." He guffawed just slightly, knowing that if he tried to do it any other way, this pretty little Honey would take a sledgehammer to his face. I ignored him, turning to Grizz and petting her soft, blonde hair.

"Soft? As if. You are just jealous that I can throw a better roundhouse kick than you."

He blinked. "What did you just say?"

Arthur just kept his incredibly stupid mouth open and blankly stared. I could only reply with a puzzled glance that kept going back to his face. _God, did I break him or is he just this naturally blank-minded,_ I thought worriedly.

I repeated myself and he replied rather tartly (not a first, he's always been feminine and brownie-like), "How can you say that I'm not the best roundhouse kicker?"

All of the sudden, out of the blue, a pail tin fell unto my head. "What?" Was he being serious? Or did I really dent something in his mind? If I did, I could always blame that stripper – who I believe has many forms of mental and physical STDs – he was with. Would explain his lateness on his assignments and such.

Then I began to laugh. I laughed the kind of laugh that starts at the back of your throat and continues to proceed to rip out of your mouth and throws itself into the faces of people around you. Arthur cringes. Griselda smiles and pats my back as I choke on my laughter and the treasured angel in my lap only looked at me like I was the mother who had just snapped. I remember once that Momma had once thrown paint at Poppa because he had accidentally gotten into her old things and sold one trinket.

After I finished with that lethal hoot, I collapsed backwards and stared at the ceiling.

I thought about my life. I thought about all the horrible things that had started to happen the second my mother had been stabbed by that wretched Mr. Killer. Thought about how I first met quiet and thoughtful Near, loud-mouthed and fired-up Jell-O, and the ever-so-techy Matt. How L became the brother I never had. How BB was (and forever will be) my first love.

Griselda started rubbing my back soothingly. Arthur's lips turn up a bit.

As I think of all the crap that's been shoved onto my plate and then I think about the future. How I have this really horrible feeling that Arthur is going to be in a lot of more my life (_**just accept it, Honey, embrace the writer's fantasies!)**_ or how Splenda is going to grow up as this little bucket full of diamonds.

Just looking at my pale, dreary ceiling, the future doesn't seem so frightening as it did when I was a few years younger. No, with Grizz by my side, with Arthur just behind me, and with Splenda mewling her encouragement, I know that I'm invincible. Yes, I'm invincible.

_**The End. **_


End file.
